


Pembroke

by freyjaschariot



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - High School, Boarding School, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-03-08 00:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3189317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjaschariot/pseuds/freyjaschariot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity Smoak and Oliver Queen couldn't be more different. Felicity is a scholarship student from Las Vegas; Oliver is a trust fund baby from Starling City. They do have a few things in common, however. One: they both attend Pembroke Academy, an elite boarding school in rural New Hampshire. Two: they both have secrets they will do almost anything to keep.</p><p>Arrow Boarding School AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity arrives at the school. Guest appearance by shirtless Oliver.

Felicity’s first thought as her taxi puttered up the long drive to Pembroke Academy was that the school was a goddamn castle. This fact shouldn’t have surprised her; pictures of Pembroke’s campus had dominated in the pages of the glossy catalogues and brochures that were stacked in a neat pile on the corner of her desk back home in Las Vegas. She knew that the buildings and grounds were all based on the ancestral home of Sir Walter Pembroke, the school’s founder. The original castle sat on a lonely moor back in Wales; this one on a ridge in southern New Hampshire. Otherwise they were identical.

However, none of the photos could have prepared Felicity for the reality of castle’s looming stone walls, its creeping ivy, the shadowy archways that seemed to lead nowhere and everywhere at once, or the three large turrets that thrust into the blazing blue sky overhead. 

Felicity’s seconds thought was: _this is a huge mistake._

She must have arrived just between classes, because Pembroke’s student population swarmed all around the taxi as it tried to make its way up to the castle’s main entrance. The students barely glanced at the cab, even as some dodged in front of it to get to buildings on the other side of the driveway; they were literally and metaphorically untouchable and they knew it. 

Everywhere there was the flash of glossy hair, white teeth, and immaculately pressed gold and green uniforms. Felicity glanced down at her own worn combat boots, still coated in a fine layer of Las Vegas dust and felt more out of place than she had in her entire life. 

_MIT,_ she thought, sucking down a gulp of stale taxicab air, _remember. This will be worth it._

For the tenth time that morning she wished she had let her mother come drop her off. At the time thy had discussed it, as Felicity had stood in the kitchen of their two bedroom apartment in Vegas imagining herself arriving here, she had wanted to do it alone, as her own independent woman. Now all she wanted was someone to squeeze her hand and tell her that everything was going to be okay. 

The taxi driver parked the cab in the rotunda in front of the castle’s main entrance and got out to unload Felicity’s bags. The skin of Felicity’s thighs stuck to the seat as she pushed herself out after him. The temperature had been 79 degrees Fahrenheit when her plane had touched down that morning and it had only gotten hotter since. She shielded her eyes from the stabbing sunlight as she gazed around the campus. Laughter rippled across the grass, a bell peeled somewhere overhead, and the students began to dissolve into both the buildings that lined the driveway and the castle itself. 

“Where do you want the bags, Miss?” The cab driver asked. He seemed as uncomfortable at Pembroke as Felicity. His eyes flickered around the too bright campus, his hands fluttering aimlessly around his rumpled, half-tucked in shirt. 

Felicity pressed her lips together. “I’m not sure”

The email she had received from the enrollment office last week stated that a student ambassador would greet her outside the main entrance when she arrived. So far no one had so much as made eye contact with her. She glanced around for someone to ask for help but most of the students had disappeared like rabbits into holes in the ground at the sound of the bell, and only a few flustered looking ones were left rushing across the grass clutching leather bookbags to their shoulders while bright white sheets of papers flapped at their sides. Then even they were gone. 

Felicity stomach churned. Maybe they had forgotten she was arriving today. Or maybe not sending someone to meet her was her punishment for changing her mind two weeks into the semester and deciding to come after all. Or maybe, she thought, the whole thing had been a practical joke from the very beginning; the invitation to apply, the acceptance letter, the scholarship, all the brochures and magazines, they were all elements of an elaborate hoax. 

Just as Felicity was beginning to despair a blonde head appeared around the corner of the castle. The head was followed by a body which belonged to a short girl in a rumpled Pembroke uniform who strode across the grass to where Felicity and the taxi driver hovered uncertainly. The girl fussed with her uniform as she walked, straightening the green and gold tie at her neck and tucking the tail of her shirt into her skirt. She wore a windblown smile and a head of tussled golden hair and Felicity felt herself relax slightly at the sight of her, oddly comforted by the fact that dishevelment did in fact exist within the Pembroke’s boundaries. As the girl approached, she stuck her hand out. 

“Hi,” she said, “Are you Felicity?” 

Felicity nodded and shook the girl’s hand. She had a surprisingly strong grip for someone with so small. 

“Great! I’m Sara Lance. I’m the new student ambassador. I’m so sorry for being late. I got, ah..caught up in something.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Felicity saw another girl emerge from the corner Sara had appeared from. The second girl was taller and the sun bounced off her long dark hair as she glanced over at them. A slight smile played around her lips as she disappeared into one of the other buildings that lined the drive.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” Felicity said. “You’re the first person I’ve seen who seems like a real person. Everyone else just looks so put together—” Felicity winced. “I’m sorry that came out wrong. I didn’t mean that you don’t look put together, it’s just I’m all sweaty and then I saw you and I just felt better because you looked kind of rumpled—” _Shut up, brain!_ “—and I’m going to stop talking now because I sound like an idiot.” 

Sara watched her ramble with the affectionate, amused expression of someone watching a kitten get tangled up in a ball of string. 

“You’re cute,” she said. “And seriously, don’t worry. Everyone here might look like they’ve got it together at first glance but trust me, 60% of the student body is half way to their first stint in rehab. You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders. You’re going to be just fine.”

Felicity smiled. “You know that probably shouldn’t make me feel better but it kind of does.”

Sara laughed. “I thought it might.” She glanced over at the small pile of suitcases at the end of the taxi. “Is that all of your stuff?”  
Felicity nodded. “This and a few things I shipped ahead.” 

“We can just leave it there for now,” Sara said. “One of the porters will bring it up to the dorm later.” 

_Porters?_ Felicity thought incredulously. 

The taxi driver looked relieved when Felicity pressed money into his hand and thanked him for the ride. She felt a pang of unease as the cab disappeared down the driveway, as though her last tie to real world had just rattled away, abandoning her to high walls, ivy, and a student population with a high content of hard drug users.

“Do you have your rooming assignment?” Sara asked. 

“Um, yes,” Felicity pulled the wrinkled paper on which she’d written the school’s address and her room assignment from the back pocket of her jeans. “The Queen Dormitory?”

Sara beamed. She was pretty in the kind of laid back, rumpled way that seemed to belong at a beach among surfer girls and skaters, not private schools and trust funds. 

“That’s where I am!” she said, linking her arm through Felicity’s and walking her toward the castle doors. She lowered her voice. “Seriously, don’t listen to anything you hear. We’re the best dormitory by far. You’re going to love it. So, you ready for the grand tour?” 

The grand tour began in the dining hall with its high, beamed ceiling and rows of narrow oak tables. Sunlight spilled through tall eastern facing windows, turning the dust in the air to swirls of gold. 

“We’re supposed to sit by year, but really you can go wherever you want,” Sara said. 

After that they peeked into the rec room where several students were playing foosball while others watched a movie on an expansive TV and then Sara pointed out several classrooms where Felicity might have lectures. “Most of the classrooms in the castle are for the humanities: history, literature, Latin. That kind of thing. The science classrooms and computer labs are in the buildings you drove by on the way up here.

Sara ended the tour at their dormitory, which was housed in one of the castle’s three turrets. A small plaque on the arched door read: QUEEN  
.  
“All the dorms are named after families who gave a shit ton of money to the school,” she explained, as she turned a skeleton key in the large metal lock. “This one’s named for the Queen family. Oliver and Thea Queen both go here. You’ll probably meet them at some point.”

Felicity had seen Oliver Queen’s picture on the news a hundred times and probably heard the story of how he and his father had been ship wreaked somewhere in the South China Sea just as often. Both Queens had been presumed dead for almost three years until a fishing trawler had discovered Oliver living alone on an inhospitable island and brought him back to the US. He seemed more like a myth to Felicity than a real person. It felt strange to be told that she might meet him.

Felicity turned her attention to the room she would be living in for the next two years. Six four posted beds were set up in circular fashion against the wall. Felicity’s things sat in a neat pile at the base of one of the beds furthest from the door. Cold air pumped out of hidden vents, cooling the sweat that had percolated between Felicity’s shoulder blades and reminding her that despite the castle’s rustic appearance it had more amenities than a Ritz Carlton.

Not that Felicity had ever been in a Ritz Carlton. She had, however, once she had stayed in Las Vegas University dorm for a computer science competition. That room had had cinderblock walls, vinyl mattresses, and definitely no air conditioning. At the time she had thought it was pretty nice. 

“Oh great, someone got your stuff,” Sara said. “So I guess that bed’s yours. I’m right over here.” She pointed to a bed next to the door. “And my friend Nyssa is right there.” She pulled out her phone out of her pocket, and glanced at the time. “I have chem lab in ten minutes so I better go. Do you have a plan for the rest of the day? You’re not starting classes today, are you?” 

Felicity shook her head. “I have a meeting with the dean at 3:30. Other than that I’m just going to unpack.” She wiped a lock of sweaty hair out of her face. “I might take a shower too.”

“The bathrooms are down the hall to the right. I’m done with class at 6. Do you want to meet me in the dining hall for dinner then?”

“That would be great,” Felicity said. If she was being honest, she had imagined herself eating alone for the rest of eternity. 

“Awesome. Good luck with Dean Winters,” Sara said as she backed toward the door. “Whatever you do, don’t stare at his mole. He hates that. Oh, and don’t stare at his toupee. Actually you might want to just avoid eye contact with any part of him if you can. There’s a calendar with the boy’s rowing team on it behind his desk. I usually try to focus on that.” With that she disappeared out the door.

For the first time since Felicity had arrived at Pembroke she was alone. 

She drifted to one of the wide windows set in the stone wall. It looked out onto the grounds behind castle, where a white pagoda sat next to small lake bordered with curving reeds. The water’s mirror-like surface reflected the blue sky and puffy clouds drifting overhead. Beyond the lake the land rolled into thickly forested foothills that rose and fell like humped shoulders and beyond that brown and green mountains thrust up to meet the sky. It was a beautiful. And it could not have looked more different from the home Felicity had left behind. 

To Felicity, who was used to the Las Vegas’ unending flatness extending in all directions; the mountains and hills seemed foreboding and mysterious, like they were hiding some kind of dark secret within their dips and vales.

A bead of sweat rolled between Felicity’s shoulder blades and she glanced down at her watch. She had two hours before her meeting with the dean. Just enough time to take a shower and put most of her things away. Felicity rummaged through her duffle bag until she found a towel and a pair of flip-flops then walked down the hall to the first bathroom she saw. 

The water pressure in Pembroke’s showers was 100 times better than the weak stream that dripped out of the one Felicity shared with her mom at home. The pounding water beat the sweat and ache and dust from her body and swirling steam and familiar smell of her strawberry shampoo soothed her frazzled nerves. When Felicity shut off the water fifteen minutes later she felt infinitely more optimistic about this whole boarding school situation. She wrapped herself in her towel, stepped out of the stall, and let out a small yelp.

A boy stood at the line of sinks against the wall dressed in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. He held a bottle of shaving cream in one hand and a razor in the other. His eyebrows rose in surprise at the sight of her. 

“Oh, Jesus, I’m sorry,” Felicity said. “You surprised me. I didn’t realize this was a co-ed bathroom.”

The boy was tall, tanned, and lean. He had close-cropped sandy brown hair and what her mother’s trashy magazines would have called “washboard abs.” He looked strangely familiar but Felicity couldn't place why. He cocked his head to the side as she spoke. The bird-like quality of the gesture caught her off guard. It seemed too delicate for someone so…solid. 

“It’s not,” he said. 

“It’s not—?” 

The boy glanced at the door and Felicity followed his gaze. MEN was printed in tall, black lettering on the wood. _Well, fuck._

“Oh my god,” she said. “I am so sorry. This is your bathroom. I’m mean, not yours personally. Just that you’re a boy. A man, really. A boy-man.” _Shut up, shut up, shut up,_ she thought. But that was like asking the rain to stop falling halfway to the ground. “And I’m a girl,” she continued, “you know, boobs and ..” she trailed off, cheeks burning“…all that jazz.” 

The boy had the darkest blue eyes she had ever seen. A hint of a smile played around his lips. Was he just going to stand there and stare at her? 

“Okay, then” she said. “I should probably go and let you get on with your, um, manly shaving activities.”

With as much dignity as she could manage, Felicity straightened her shoulders and squelched past him and out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Not looking at Dean Winter’s mole proved more difficult than Felicity expected. It was shaped like Texas and sat just below his left eye so that all of Felicity’s attempts to maintain a respectful level of eye contact kept morphing into mole contact instead. 

Keeping her gaze away from his toupee was almost as difficult. The color of ink, it sat atop his head like the pelt of a petrified animal. Even worse, it lilted ever so slightly to the right. Felicity’s perfectionist fingers itched to reach out and straighten it. 

In the end she resorted to Sara’s tactic of staring at the boys’ rowing team calendar pinned to the wall just behind the dean’s left ear. She found that if she trained her eyes on the navel of the particularly well-built red head in the front row she could project the appearance of eye contact while actually basking the rower’s ab-tacular glory.

“It says here that you’re enrolled in Advanced Computer Science, Calculus I, English Literature, History of the Roman Empire, and French,” the dean said, riffling through a file on is desk. “Does that sound correct?”

Felicity nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He peered at her over the top of his gold-frame glasses. “And you are aware that the terms of your scholarship stipulate that you must be involved in at least one extracurricular activity?” 

“Um.” Felicity hadn’t remembered that. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “It doesn’t have to be a sport does it? Because I’m really bad on my feet. When I was twelve I got a concussion playing softball— it’s a long story. Basically, I hit myself in the head with the bat. Huh. Guess it’s not that long.” She fiddled with a loose thread on her t-shirt. “Anyway, I tend to do my best work lying down.” She froze. _Oh God, please tell me I did not just say that._ “I meant like coding! I do it in my bed a lot of the time…” she trailed off as the dean’s Texas-shaped mole twitched with displeasure. 

“Ms. Smoak, that kind of crude humor may have won you friends where you come from but here at Pembroke we strive for a higher level of sophistication.” 

“I’m sorry,” Felicity said in a small voice. “I didn’t mean to be crude.”

“As for your question—no it does not have to be a sport. There are plenty of other activities you could become involved in. The debate team perhaps?”

Felicity grimaced. With her tendency to put her foot in her mouth, the debate team seemed like the worst possible activity for her to join. Perhaps even worse than being forced to play softball again. A different idea sprung to her mind. “Could I tutor?" she asked. I could definitely do computer science but I’m also good at math, bio, and physics.”

“Perhaps that would be best,” the dean said wrly. He made a note on her file. “I’ll let the head of the Peer to Peer Tutoring Center know that you’ll be stopping by to set up your hours.” He shut the file and folded his hands on top of it. “Do you have any other questions for me?” 

Felicity shook her head. She was anxious to get out of there before she said something else she’d regret. 

He waved a hand toward the door. “Then you’re free to go.” 

Felicity was out of her chair in record time. As she laid her hand on the doorknob, Dean Winters called, “And Ms. Smoak—“  
Felicity looked back.

“I meant what I said about holding yourself to a higher standard while at Pembroke. You are now a student at my institution I expect your comportment to reflect the utmost respect for that privilege.” He said “my institution” the way other people said “my child.” 

Felicity swallowed. “Yes, sir.” 

“Go on, then.”

As fast as she could, she went.

Felicity spent the rest of the time before dinner walking around campus with her schedule, staking out all of her classrooms. She also went to the Tutoring Center and set up a tutoring timetable with the waiflike woman who ran it. 

Everywhere she went, Felicity felt like there was a giant neon sign hanging over her head alternatively flashing “new girl” and “scholarship student”. She hadn’t thought to change into her uniform after showering and her combat boots, worn jeans, and Las Vegas University t-shirt made her about inconspicuous amongst the coiffed and uniformed student body as a cheesepuff on a platter of caviar. 

Even if she had changed, she doubted that a uniform would have done much to help her blend in. Pembroke only had a few hundred students and most of them had attended the same private education institutions since their designer preschool days. Curious stares followed her across the quad, raking her up and down with unapologetic interest. Feeling like an exotic animal in a zoo, Felicity took to ducking her head as she walked. 

When she arrived in the dining hall a few minutes past six Sara was sitting at the long table closest to the door with the dark haired girl Felicity had noticed follow her from behind the castle her earlier that day. Sara waved her over and Felicity sunk gratefully into the seat beside her. 

“Felicity, this is Nyssa,” Sara said, gesturing to the dark-haired girl. “Nyssa, Felicity's the new girl in our dorm I told you about.”

Where Sara was rumpled, laidback, and cute, Nyssa looked like she had just walked off a high fashion runway. She had flat cheekbones, wide, dark eyes, and an elegant nose. Thick locks of shiny black hair hung down to the middle of her back. 

“Hi,” Felicity said. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

Nyssa raised one perfectly arched eyebrow at Felicity before returning her attention to the slice of blueberry pie in front of her.

“Don’t mind her,” Sara said. “She’s got the social skills of a particularly vivacious doorknob.” 

Nyssa continued eating her pie as though Sara hadn’t spoken.

“How was your meeting with the Dean?” Sara asked, piling mashed potatoes into her plate. Dishes of foods littered the length of the table. There seemed to be no coherent theme linking them into a meal; the options ranged from bowls of candied carrots to platters piled high with golden brown grilled cheese.

“Just perfect” Felicity said, reaching for a grilled cheese. “As long as you ignore the fact that I implied I was a prostitute when he asked me about my extracurriculars.”

Nyssa snorted through a mouthful of pie and Sara’s eyebrows shot up.

“How did you do that?” Sara asked.

“I may have accidentally I told him I do my best work lying down.”

This time Nyssa outright laughed. “That’s hilarious.” She set down her fork and offered Felicity her hand. “Hi. I’m Nyssa by the way.”  


Felicity grinned. “Felicity Smoak.”

“Really?” Sara said, looking between them. “I literally just introduced you guys.”

Nysssa shrugged and picked up her fork again. “I thought she was boring then. Now I don’t. Got any other good stories, new girl? 

Felicity was about to tell them about the shower incident when the boy in question strolled into the dining hall, followed closely by two other boys, one with dark skin, a shaved head, and muscles bulging through his button down, the other shorter and slighter with casually ruffled dark hair and dimpled cheeks.

“Oh crap,” Felicity said, ducking her head behind Sara’s shoulder. “It’s him.”

“It’s who?” Sara asked glancing toward the new entrants. “You mean Oliver?”

“Oliver?” Felicity slowed lifted her gaze as the boys slipped into a bench a few tables away. Suddenly it hit her why the boy had seemed so familiar. “Wait. _That’s_ Oliver Queen?”

Sara sighed. “Pembroke Academy’s one and only billionaire castaway. Did you meet him today?”

Felicity groaned internally. He had looked different in the pictures she’d seen on TV; emaciated, dirty, and bruised, with a straggly beard to boot. But now that she knew it was him she couldn’t believe she hadn’t realized who he was before. 

“You could say that,” Felicity said. She explained how she had used the wrong bathroom.

She spooned buttered peas onto her plate and watched them roll aimlessly into a puddle of ketchup. Felicity didn’t know why the fact that it was Oliver Queen who had witnessed her embarrassment should make the whole thing any worse but somehow it did. She was living in a dorm with his family’s name on it, for God’s sake. And she had called him a boy-man.

Nyssa’s grin gave her a foxlike appearance. “That’s great.” She looked at Sara. “I like this girl. Can we keep her?”

“Shut up and eat your pie,” Sara said to Nyssa. She turned to Felicity. “Seriously don’t worry about it. Trust me, Oliver has absolutely no business judging anyone. Once in first year, Tommy, that’s the boy sitting next to him, the one with the dark hair. He dared Oliver to streak across the quad. Long story short, they were drunk and Oliver only made it halfway across the grass before he fell asleep under a tree. He was still there when everyone was going to class the next morning. Suffice it to say, 80% of this school has seen the Queen family jewels.”

Felicity’s brain was suddenly flooded with images of Oliver Queen butt-naked, curled up beneath a tree watched over by a family of inquisitive squirrels. Based on the extensive look at his body she’d gotten in the bathroom, her mind could construct the scene in intricate detail. She shoved a spoonful of peas into her mouth to cover up her burning cheeks.

“Anyway,” Sara said, “forget about Oliver. You’re both coming to my soccer game after this right? It’s just a scrimmage but we’re going to kick ass.”

Sara’s team did kick ass. Felicity cheered from the bleachers while Nyssa sat beside her maintaining a haughtily bored expression. Felicity couldn’t helped but be impressed with the Nyssa’s ability to appear thoroughly uninterested for extended periods of time without all of her features melting off her face. When Felicity was bored she turned into a drooling, glazed over idiot. Nyssa looked like she was unconsciously posing for a fashion spread. When Felicity told her this Nyssa smiled, for the first time without any hint of irony.

“We’re definitely keeping you,” she said.

By the time the game ended the sun had dipped behind the mountains and the tops of the trees glowed red and gold in the faltering light. Long shadows followed the girls across the grass as they made their way back up to the castle, accompanied by the low thrum of cicadas.

Sara and Nyssa dropped Felicity off at the dorm before leaving again for the showers. It was only eight o’clock but Felicity felt like she been awake for a full week. As she pulled on her comfiest pajamas, an old worn t-shirt of her mom’s and a pair of panda bear boy shorts, she wondered when the rest of their roommates would show up.  
Felicity slipped into bed and opened her laptop with the intention of teaching herself a new coding program. The next thing she knew, she was being shaken awake, dragged from the warm depths of slumber and back to reality.

“Uh-uhnn,” Felicity mumbled, “five more minutes.” But the shaking continued so she peeled her leaden eyelids apart and blinked blearily into the sunlight streaming in through the tall windows. As her eyes adjusted the white blur was replaced by Sara's face floating above her.

"Wake up, new girl," she said, grinning. "You don't want to be late for your first day."


	3. Chapter 3

Felicity fumbled with her tie for five minutes before Sara took pity on her. “Let me,” she said, shooing Felicity’s hands out of the way. She deftly looped one end of the tie over the other and tugged it through the hole they made. “There,” she said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Congratulations.” She grinned. “Now you look as pretentious as the rest of us.”

Felicity stared at her reflection in the mirror over her bureau. The Pembroke uniform consisted of a white button down, a gold and green striped tie, knee high socks, and a green skirt. With her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, Felicity could almost pass for one of the girls in the school catalog. She hardly recognized herself.

“Didn’t you ever help you dad with his tie when you were growing up?” Sara asked, watching her with an amused expression.

Felicity shook her head. “My dad left us when I was little so…” She carefully avoided catching Sara’s eye. There was nothing worse than the flash of pity when people realized she’d been abandoned.

“God, who has the social skills of a doorknob now, Sara?” Nyssa lay on her back atop her bed weaving small braids into her long hair. “I’m sorry your dad’s a douche, Felicity.”

Sara shot Nyssa a glare before looking back to Felicity. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Felicity waved away her apology. “It’s okay. It’s been a long time. And my mom’s great so I don’t really have anything to complain about. Anyway,” she said, trying to keep her tone bright. “I’m starving. Breakfast?”

“Ugh, yes please,” Nyssa said, rolling off her bed. “You guys take forever to get ready. I’m dying over here.”

Nyssa had the most low maintenance morning routine Felicity had ever seen. She didn’t own an ounce of makeup and rarely brushed her hair. It fell down her back in perfect beachy waves entirely of its own volition. Felicity would have been lying if she said she wasn’t tab envious.

“We can’t all wake up looking like runway models, Nyssa” Sara said, rolling her eyes.

“Hey, my stomach shouldn’t have to suffer just cause I happened to get a winning ticket in the genetic lottery," Nyssa replied. "Now come on before I eat you for breakfast.”

Despite Felicity’s declaration of hunger, talking about her father had thoroughly quashed her appetite. She picked at a plate of eggs while Sara and Nyssa chatted about homework and plans for the weekend.

If her father found out what she’d done— if anyone found out-- what was the prison sentence for cyber theft? Maybe they’d let her off easy because she was a minor. Felicity stabbed a hash brown with her fork and mushed it around her eggs. She didn’t think she’d do well in prison. For one, she seriously doubted they had L’Oreal Ash Blond LB01. Though brown roots would be the least of her problems—

“Felicity?”

“Hm?”

Sara and Nyssa were staring at her with matching sets of raised eyebrows.

“Are you ok?” Sara asked. “You were muttering something about there not being Doritos in prison.”

Felicity flushed. _Damn you, brain to mouth filter._ “Oh, yeah. I had a dream about being in prison last night. Weird, huh?” She laughed nervously and tugged at the end of her ponytail.

“I had a dream I was in prison once,” Nyssa said, casually spearing a sausage with her knife. “I ran that joint, let me tell you.”

A bell rang overhead and the room filled with the sound of benches scrapping against the floor and the clatter of plates and silverware as the students stood up to head for class.  
“What do you have first?” Sara asked, glancing at Felicity as she swung her leg over the bench.

“Tutoring.”

“Lucky,” Nyssa said, as they wove their way to the doors. “I have fencing. My dad’s forcing me to take it. As if I need more ways to make men squirm.”

They parted ways in the entrance hall and Felicity took the large curving staircase up to the second floor. The tutoring center was a bright, white walled room with large windows that looked out onto the quad below. Eight workstations filled the room, each with its own sleek desktop computer.

Mrs. Lusky, the petite, severe looking woman who ran the tutoring center, showed Felicity to a desk in the back of the room. “I have you down for Computer Science, biology, physics, and math up to Calculus I,” she said, glancing down at her clipboard. “So if anyone comes in for those things I’ll send them back. You can work on your own assignments until then.”

Felicity didn’t have any homework yet but she took out the assigned book for her Roman history class, Livy’s _Ab Urbe Condita_ , and opened it to the introduction. Her attention soon drifted to the three boys playing with a frisbee on the emerald lawn below. Felicity’s eyes followed the disc’s path without really seeing it. The frisbee had sparked a memory of her dad she hadn’t realized she still had. She was sitting in his lap at a family picnic, tracing the lines across his palm with her pudgy little kid fingers, while two older girls whose faces escaped her tossed a frisbee in front of them. She had felt safe and warm and utterly content. A pang of regret stabbed Felicity's heart. So much had changed.

“Felicity Smoak?”

“Huh?” Felicity tore her gaze away from the window. Oliver Queen stood in front of her, his schoolbag slung casually over one shoulder, watching her with a half-smile. Sunlight streamed through the window, turning his sandy hair gold and illuminating the flecks of turquoise in his eyes. Felicity swallowed. He was a little too attractive. It was unnerving.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m—”

“I know who you are,” Felicity said, too quickly. “I mean, you’re kind of famous around here. And just in general, actually. With the whole dying thing. And then the not dying thing. And I saw you in the bathroom yesterday. Although you had a lot less clothes on then.” She sucked down a breath and tapped her pen anxiously on the desktop. “And I’m going to stop talking now. Can I help you with something?”

The corner of Oliver’s mouth had slowly quirked as he listened to her babble. “I was told you were the one to see with computer trouble.”

“Yes,” Felicity said, thankful for something hands-on to do. “What’s the problem?”

Oliver held up a laptop riddled with— _were those bullet holes?_ “My laptop had an accident.”

Felicity let out a low whistle. “That seems like an understatement.” She took the laptop from him and ran her hands over the puckered holes in the metal. “How did this even happen?”

Oliver folded his arms and lounged against the edge of her desk. “My friend Tommy likes to hunt.”

Felicity glanced up from the laptop, one eyebrow raised. “For computers?”

“He has bad aim,” Oliver said, in a tone that conveyed quite clearly that that was as much information as she was going to get. “So do you think there’s any chance you could recover the files from it?”

“I don’t know,” Felicity said truthfully. She had never handled technology this damaged before. She hadn’t lived in the best neighborhood in Vegas but it wasn’t exactly raining bullets either. “If the hard drive isn’t damaged too badly it might be possible.”

“If you could try, I’d be really grateful.” Oliver’s tone was carefully pleasant. He knew his story was ridiculous. He was trusting her not to press him. Or maybe he just trusted himself to be charming enough that she didn’t want to.

Felicity should have resented him for it. He was clearly withholding information from her. Yet she found herself wanting to help him instead and it wasn’t about the fact that he was Oliver Queen or that he had one of the nicest jawlines she had ever seen on a human being. It was about herself. The laptop presented a challenge Felicity had never tackled before. She wanted to prove she could do what he was asking.

Felicity pushed her glasses up her nose. “I’ll do my best,” she said. “That’s all I can promise.”

“Great,” Oliver said. He had a small pale scar just above his left eyebrow. Felicity had a sudden urge to brush her fingers against it. _Do not do that,_ the rational part of her brain warned. She clasped her hands in her lap, just in case.

“So you’ll let me know if you find anything?” Oliver asked.

Felicity nodded.

“Well, see you around.” As he backed away he cracked a smile. “Maybe in the boy’s showers again?”

Felicity flushed and opened her mouth to retort but he was already gone.

After Oliver, Mrs. Lusky sent Felicity a procession of kids looking for help with bio and calculus. One anxious first-year was on the verge of tears over the concept of cellular respiration. As Felicity attempted to explain how glucose and oxygen turned into carbon dioxide, water, and energy, her gaze kept wandering to the shot-up laptop sitting on the corner of her desk. Her fingers itched to take it apart and sum up the damage. And if she was being honest, she was intensely curious about what she would find if she managed to access the files. What could be so important that Oliver Queen, who by all normal standards had unlimited resources, didn’t just go out and buy a replacement computer? If he were any other teenage boy, Felicity might have guessed it was his secret porn stash. Somehow she didn’t think that was what Oliver was after.

She forced her eyes away from the laptop and back to the panicking first year. She was going to figure out a way to get to those files. Whatever was on Oliver's computer, she’d known soon enough.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here is an update finally! Apparently it takes a soul crushing hiatus to get me writing. I should probably wait a while to post this until I have time to edit it but I'm afraid if I do that I'll never get to it and it'll just sit in my drafts until I'm old and grey and surrounded by cats (it's going to happen people). So I'm just going to put it up now and apologize in advance for all the typos that are scattered throughout.

There was minute of silence after Felicity knocked on Oliver’s door. Recovering the files had taken less time than she’d thought. She’d scarfed down a quick dinner while Sara and Nyssa watched with raised eyebrows and then she’d bolted back to the dorm and set to work. Now all that was left was to share her victory with Oliver. Felicity rocked back on her heels and glanced down the abandoned hallway. Maybe he wasn’t in. He could be at dinner or in the gym or—

The door swung open to reveal a bleary eyed Oliver. His sandy brown hair stuck up in porcupine spikes and he wore a pair of grey sweatpants slung low around his hips. 

“Oh!” Felicity startled. “Hello. You’re not wearing a shirt. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I mean, you look good. Not good like I’m attracted to you just not bad—”

“Hi, Felicity,” Oliver interrupted, rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes. “What’s up?” 

“The files.” Felicity cheeks were burning but she powered through. “I was able to transfer them from your drive-by computer to my nice functioning laptop. I thought you’d want to know.”

Oliver yawned as he nodded along to her words. 

“I’m sorry,” Felicity said. She felt like an idiot. He’d clearly been sleeping and probably didn’t feel like listening to her babble. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. I can come back later.” She turned to go but Oliver grabbed her elbow. 

“No, no, come in.” He guided her into the room and shut the door behind them. “I was just napping. I haven’t been sleeping well at night.” Oliver was one of the only, if not the only, student at Pembroke to have a private dorm. Felicity had heard rumors that his mother had paid a handsome sum on top of the already ridiculous cost of tuition to get it for him. Others whispered that Oliver had been kicked out of the regular dorms because he kept waking up screaming in the middle of the night.

Felicity glancing furtively around the room. If she had hoped to glean any insight about Oliver by the state of his room she was sorely disappointed. The room was narrow and dark. The only furnishings were a wooden four poster bed, a chair, and a small desk with a lamp on it, which provided just enough dim yellow light to illuminate the only other decoration in the entire room; a photograph in a silver frame on his desk. It showed Oliver, his parents, and a young girl Felicity assumed was his little sister, Thea. They were the perfect family. If she didn’t recognized Oliver, Felicity might have thought it was the stock photo you were supposed to take out before putting your own picture in.

Beside the frame, a stack of newspapers sat on the desk. The headline of the one of top read “Starling Vigilante Strikes Again.” Just below it was an artist’s rendering of a man in a hood that covered the top part of his face. Felicity hadn’t heard of the ‘Hood’, as people were calling the mysterious archer running amok in Starling City, until she had arrived from Vegas. Here though, he was a hot topic. Which made sense considering Starling was the closest city to Pembroke. A boy in Felicity’s Ancient Rome class had claimed to see the ‘Hood’ jumping from a rooftop while in Starling last weekend. Felicity herself had a feeling the whole thing was a hoax put on by some attention starved PR company. 

She nodded towards the newspaper. “You researching the Hood?”

Oliver followed her gaze. “Ah, no. Just trying to keep up to date on the news.”

Felicity shook her head. “Beyond the vigilante thing, what gets me the most is the fact that this guy chooses to use a bow and arrow as a weapon in an urban setting. Seems utterly ridiculous to me.” 

“Mhm,” Oliver said. “I completely agree.” He clapped his hands. “So— you were able to recover the files?” 

“Ah, right. Can I—?” she glanced at the bed. He nodded. The mattress groaned as she sank onto the edge and pulled her computer out of her bag. Oliver leaned against the wall nearby and crossed his arms. Felicity couldn’t help noticing the way the taut muscles shifted beneath his skin as he did.

Tearing her eyes away, she turned her attention to her laptop. “The process wasn’t too difficult actually. It was just a matter of setting up a transfer system between your computer and mine using a firewire cable. And, lucky for you, I just so happened to receive one for my birthday last year. I know—weird present. It’s a long story. Basically I needed it hack my doctor’s computer system and change the date of my next appointment. Not that I told my mom that.” She glanced up at him, grimacing. “I really hate needles.”

The corner of Oliver’s mouth twitched. 

Felicity turned the computer around so he could see the screen. “There you go.” She cocked her head. “Aren’t you a bit young to be building your stock portfolio?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Stock portfolio?”

“Oliver, these are blueprints,” Felicity said. “Of the Starling Exchange building? I thought you said these were your files.”

“They are,” he said calmly. “Right, the stock exchange. Yeah, I’ve been trying to keep my efforts on down low. Don’t want too much competition, you know?” He smiled. It was a smile meant to disarm its audience. Inwardly, Felicity admitted to being charmed. But that didn’t mean she bought his bullshit story.

Oliver sank onto the bed beside her and took the computer into his lap. As he scrolled through the documents, a small furrow appeared behind his brows, cementing Felicity’s belief that, whatever Oliver claimed, he had never seen these files before. Whoever they belonged to, it wasn’t Oliver Queen. Felicity was momentarily distracted from her suspicions as Oliver shifted beside her and his arm brushed against hers. She was suddenly aware of how close they were sitting. He was unnaturally warm. Heat radiated off his bare skin, permeating the thin fabric of her sweater. For some strange reason, that made her shiver. 

“Felicity?” 

She looked up. Oliver was watching her, a half smile on his face.

“Hm?”

“I said thank you.” He paused. “You’re remarkable.”

Felicity pushed her glasses up her nose. “Thank you for remarking on it.”

Oliver reached into his pocket of his sweatpants and pulled out a wadded up $100. “Here. For your time.”

The smile faded from Felicity’s face. “First of all, you sleep with hundreds of dollars in your sweatpants?”

He looked wounded. “Not hundreds. Just the one.”

“Right,” she said dryly. “Well that’s normal then. And secondly, you don’t have to pay me. That’s not why I helped you.” 

Oliver’s brow furrowed. “It’s not a big deal. You deserve it. Take the money.”

Felicity flushed. Maybe hundred dollars wasn’t a big deal to Pembroke kids but to her it was a windfall. “It was a favor, Oliver. Sometimes people just do things for others to be nice.”

He looked skeptical but he shrugged and slipped the money back into his pocket. 

“Is this how you usually make friends,” Felicity said. “Shoving money at them?” She knew she was being overly sensitive. But she had heard the whispers circulating about her. Scholarship kid. Lived in a trailer park. The school’s charity project. She was raw around the edges from trying to scrape herself clean of rumors. 

Oliver’s face was blank. “Felicity, I was marooned on an island for three years. Honestly, I’m kind of out of practice on the whole friend-making thing.”

Felicity’s indignation thawed. Put next to Oliver’s trauma, her insecurities seemed small, petty. “I’m sorry— I didn’t mean to remind you.” 

Oliver shook his head. “It’s fine.” He stared out the window, his body shifted away from her. She tried to imagine what he was thinking, what he had been through. It was impossible. 

At some point in the evening it had started to rain and the sound of water plinking against the glass grew louder as they sat in silence. Water droplets flecked the window, shimmering like tiny crystals in the yellow light from the desk lamp. 

“Well, I should probably go,” Felicity said after a minute. Oliver nodded. Felicity’s hand drifted up an inch, reflexively reaching for him. Her mind raced, trying to think of something to say to make him smile again. He stood abruptly and walked towards the window. Immediately a chill settled in where his warmth had been. Felicity’s hand fell.

“Thanks again for the computer help,” he said without looking at her. Seeing herself dismissed, Felicity stood and moved to leave. She stopped short at the door and looked back. 

“Oliver.” She hesitated. He glanced over at her. In the darkened room, his eyes were the deepest blue, almost black. As they often did, words started rushing out before Felicity could stop them. “If you need someone to practice your skills on, I’m here. Your friend-making skills, I mean” she added quickly. “Although I’m sure you have lots of other skills. God knows you could be a model or a professional work-out guru or something.” She trailed off. “But it was the friend-making skills I was specifically referring too.” 

Oliver’s shoulders relaxed an infinitesimal amount and she might have imagined it but Felicity thought perhaps the shadows had receded somewhat from his eyes. “I might take you up on that offer.” He smiled. This time she detected no ulterior motive behind the gesture, just genuine gratitude and more than a little exhaustion. “Goodnight, Felicity.” 

“Goodnight.” 

As Felicity pulled the door shut behind her she felt a strange mixture of relief and regret. What was she getting herself into? She had come to Pembroke purely to have a better chance of getting into MIT. Becoming the Oliver Queen’s personal IT girl was not part of the plan. Especially since whatever Oliver was up to was unarguably shady and Felicity had her own problems to worry about when it came to law breaking. 

“Snap out of it, Felicity,” she muttered to herself. “Also stop talking to yourself. It’s weird. Anddd, you’re still doing it. Great.” Shaking her head slightly, she hiked her bag up her shoulder and set off down the hall.


	5. Chapter 5

The longer Felicity lived at Pembroke the more convinced she became that the school was hurtling around the sun at approximately twice the speed as the rest of the world. The weeks flew by in blur of green and gold, as though the students had traded part of their immense fortunes to speed up time, the sooner they could begin their real lives as trust fund managers, CEOs, and socialites. Felicity’s life was a haze of glossy mahogany desks, stone archways, and endless piles of homework. Specifics like individual conversations, the contents of her breakfast, and the questions on the pop quiz in Roman History class were all lost to her. 

Her mother attempted to pry details from her via text: Was she happy? Had she made friends? What was it like, being surrounded by all those yuppies? Felicity struggled to answer. She couldn’t say she was happy, exactly, but she was busy, busier than she ever had been before. For now, that was enough. 

In her rare moments of calmness, Felicity sat back and wondered at the state of her life. Half the time she still had a hard time believing it was her life and not some strange, lavish dream. At the same time she found herself slowly adjusting her surroundings. She no longer marveled at the entrance hall’s sweeping grand staircase or the swans in the lake or the fact that she fell asleep each night in a four poster bed in the turret of a castle. 

As for Oliver Queen, Felicity hadn’t spoken to him since she had brought the bullet riddled computer to his dorm room her first week of school. Occasionally she saw him in the dining hall and he’d tip his head in her direction in the universal dude sign of acknowledgment. But he had not sought her out again. She had hoped he might present her with another technological challenge. And if she was being really honest with herself, she had also hoped he’d take her up on her offer of friendship. Not that he needed more friends. Every time Felicity saw him, he was surrounded by people. He was rarely the one talking, seeming to prefer sitting back and letting the others entertain him. Felicity herself mostly hung out with Sara and Nyssa, and occasionally a sweet girl named Cindy from her French class who was almost as abysmal at the language as Felicity was. 

One Friday night at the end of September, Felicity was sitting on her bed surrounded by French translation books when Sara burst into the dorm and, seeing Felicity, threw her hands in the air. “There you are! Why are you still in your uniform? We have to go!” 

Felicity sat up and brushed a lock of sweaty hair out of her face. Her head was spinning with verb tenses and conjunctions. She stifled a yawn. “Go where?” 

Sara was dressed in a sleeveless black jumpsuit. Silver eyeshadow rimmed her wide blue eyes. She looked like a mix of a beach babe and a particularly stylish alien. “To the Burns,” she said, rolling her eyes as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re late. Come on.” 

Felicity’s forehead wrinkled. “What’s the Burns?” 

Sara’s impatient look faltered. “Oh crap. Did I forget to tell you?”

The urge to yawn was overwhelming. “Tell me what?” Felicity asked. Whatever the Burns was Felicity didn’t think she was in the mood to go. She had just been about change into her pajamas. And had she even eaten dinner yet? She couldn’t remember. 

Sara winced. “Okay, so I forgot to tell you. That’s my bad. Look, just get changed and we can still get there in time for the good part. Here—” she strode over to her bureau and riffled through its contents, tossing the undesired items over her shoulder into a pile on the floor. Finding what she was looking for, she spun around and threw a piece of black fabric towards Felicity. “Put that on.”

Felicity held up the strip of cloth. At first glance she had assumed it was a headband or a sock but upon closer inspection she realized it was in fact an extremely tightfitting black dress. “I don’t think this is going to fit me.” 

Sara waved away her concern. “It stretches.” 

Felicity was grumbling but somehow she was also standing and shucking her uniform and pulling the stretchy black fabric over her head and rolling it down over her hips. She didn’t know why she was letting Sara drag her out. The best reason she could come up with was that she simply didn’t have the energy to protest.

Sara’s eyes raked her up and down. “That’ll do. Now put on your shoes. No, not those ones. The boots.” 

Felicity yawned again as she dropped the oxfords she had been about to put on and fumbled around under the bed for her combat boots. She slid them onto her feet and straightened up. “So are you going to tell me what this burning thing is?”

“The Burns,” Sara corrected her. “I’ll tell you as we walk!” 

The hallways were strangely quiet for 10 pm on a Friday. At this time of night there was usually a bunch of people hanging out in the lounges watching movies or playing foosball and video games in the Rec Room. Tonight, the only movement was the shafts of pale moonlight sliding languidly across the floor.

“Where is everyone?” Felicity asked, and she hurried to keep up with Sara.

The lighter blonde glanced back at her. “They’re already outside. I keep telling you we’re late.” 

“That’s not my fault,” Felicity said crossly. “I don’t even know where we’re going.” 

They took the stairs of the main staircase two at the time. 

“Every year on September date there’s a… I guess you could call it a gathering, in the woods behind the castle to celebrate the founding of the school,” Sara explained. “It’s tradition. Everyone goes. Sometimes alumni even show up. It’s sort of a big deal.” 

They strode out the main entrance into the cool night air. The fogginess began to clear from Felicity’s head as they traversed the dewy grass and headed around the back of the castle. “I thought you hated traditions.” 

Sara glanced back at her, grinning. “I’m willing to make an exception for the Burns. The headmaster and the professors all turn a blind eye, because, you know, tradition. A couple semesters ago the bonfire got a little out of hand and someone called the fire department. After that the sheriff’s office tried to forbid the Burns from happening but rumor has it the Board of Trustees paid them off to pretend they don’t know exactly when it’s going down every year. That’s how committed these people are to their traditions.” 

Felicity couldn’t help noticing how Sara said ‘these people’ as though she were not one of them. It occurred to her that she knew very little of Sara’s background. She had always assumed she was a trust fund baby like the most of the student population. Maybe she had been wrong.

Sara led her toward the woods that ringed the lake behind the castle. As they neared the tree line the moon slid behind a large cloud. In the sudden darkness Felicity tripped over a large root and almost fell before Sara grabbed her elbow and steadied her. As she straightened up Felicity noticed the faint rumbling of voices and the low thump of a bass filtering through the trees. 

“Almost there!” Sara grabbed Felicity’s hand and drew her further into the woods. Felicity began to make out individual shouts of laughter. Someone yelled “Hey, man, don’t tip over the keg!” Dark figures darted through the trees. Then suddenly Felicity and Sara emerged into a clearing. 

Felicity stopped short. Sara’s hand slipped from her grasp. There were people everyone, all of them dressed in black. Some wore masks that covered the upper sections of their face. It was warmer in the clearing. The goosebumps on Felicity’s arms and legs evaporated. A steady beat pounded out of a large stereo system set up between two large fir trees. Some intrepid students had removed the bust of Sir Walter from the entrance hall and placed him in a position of honor near the center of clearing. They'd even gussied him up with a black mask of his own. 

And in the center of it all, a huge bonfire twisted towards the indigo sky above. Every few seconds the flames snapped impatiently, sending bursts of sparks leaping into the air. Sara turned to Felicity. In the deep shadows thrown by the firelight the foxishness of her smile was even more pronounced. “Welcome to the Burns!”


	6. Chapter 6

They had only been there a minute when Nyssa emerged from the darkness like a black clad apparition, cupped the back of Sara’s head and drew her into a kiss that made Felicity’s cheeks flush. When they finally disengaged, Nyssa wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and nodded to Felicity, a lazy grin playing around her swollen lips. “Hey, new girl.”

“Is there a point when I stop being the new girl?” Felicity asked.

Nyssa just grinned wider. “Probably when we graduate.”

“Doesn’t mean we don’t love you,” Sara said, hooking an arm around Felicity’s neck and planting a wet kiss on her cheek.

A boy dressed only in a pair of black silk boxers danced by and pressed a cup of amber liquid into Felicity’s hand before disappearing just as quickly as he’d appeared. Nyssa conjured up two more cups for herself and Sara. Then she dragged them both to a log near the outskirts of the clearing. Nyssa glanced at Felicity and winked. "Prime people watching real estate."

They spent the next hour or so sipping their drinks and watching the student population of Pembroke grow more and more debauched as the night wore on. Towards midnight Sara disappeared. When she reappeared a few minutes later she was carrying a wreath woven out of what appeared to be laurel leaves and dotted with some kind of small white flower. “For you,” she said, plunking it down on Felicity’s head. 

Felicity giggled. “Thanks. Don’t you want one?”

“There’s only two Burns crowns,” Sara said, tapping Felicity on the nose. “Whoever’s wearing the crown at midnight is the Burns Queen.”

“Cool,” Felicity said. She felt light, like she was floating. It was the same feeling she’d gotten the few times the kids from her apartment building had all snuck into the complex's drained pool and got drunk on cheap beer beneath the diving board. “Do I get a prize or something?”

Sara grinned. “You could say that.” She leaned towards her. "You get to kiss the Burns King.”

“Kiss—?” 

Sara was dragging Felicity to her feet and pulling her through the crowd towards the bonfire. “Burns Queen coming through,” she yelled, elbowing people out of their way to make a path. “Move it, you degenerates.” 

They came to the center of the clearing. On the other side of the bonfire someone pushed a tall, shadowy figure forward. The boy stumbled into the firelight Felicity felt her stomach drop. The floaty, carefree feeling evaporated. Oliver Queen stood by the fire wearing a laurel wreath on his head, and an agitated look on his face. He glanced back at the group of boys who had just shoved him and gave them the finger. 

Someone had turned off the music. The boys stopped laughing. The clearing was quiet. “Do your duty, your majesty, " Sara said, grinning. She gave Felicity a light push. 

Felicity and Oliver were alone in the empty space, separated only by a few feet of warm air. Felicity couldn’t help noticing that the firelight suited Oliver. It gilded his hair gold, and highlighted the fine architecture of his cheekbones. Then again everything seemed to suit Oliver. Even the stupid wreath on his head just served to make him look more like a Greek statue. 

Oliver stepped toward her and Felicity moved to meet him. 

“We don’t have to have to do this,” Oliver said, so low only she could hear him. He looked genuinely apologetic for their predicament. “They stuck it on me before I could stop them.”

“Same.” Felicity said. She glanced behind her at the restless crowd. “But I don’t think they’d be too pleased if we backed out.”

Oliver cocked his head to the side. It was the same reaction he’d had when he’d discovered her in the men’s bathroom the first time they met, that birdlike movement that seemed too delicate for someone his size.

“Are you a people pleaser, Smoak?” He asked. There was a teasing edge to his voice.

“No,” Felicity said. “I’d rather please myself.” Her cheeks flushed. “Not like that. Not that there’s anything wrong with pleasing yourself. It’s actually supposed to be really healthy for you—” she resisted the urge to face palm. “In the future, don’t let me drink alcohol. Ever.”

The corner of Oliver’s mouth twitched. “Noted.”

“Kiss already!” someone shouted from the crowd. A titter rippled through the human mass. 

Felicity bit her lip. “What happens if we don’t do it?”

Oliver shrugged. “It’s not so bad. They just throw you in the lake.”

Felicity laughed. 

Oliver raised an eyebrow.

Her smile faded. “You’re not kidding.”

“I’m a good swimmer. Are you?”

“I don’t think I’d drown,” she said. “So I guess that’s an option.” 

She let her eyes flick up to his face. His lips looked soft and slightly wet. Her own felt as dry as the Sahara. She resisted the urge to lick them. He was ridiculously good looking. Who was she kidding? She wanted to kiss him; she wanted to kiss him badly. And now she had the perfect excuse. Her mother’s voice echoed through her head. Felicity could practically hear Donna rolling her eyes. _Oh god, Felicity, kiss him. You’re young, live a little!_

“Or we could just do it,” Felicity said, before she could change her mind.

Oliver’s mouth curved up, a sharp edged hook dragging her in. “That is another option.”

Felicity took another small step forward, erasing the remaining distance between them. She could almost feel the heat radiating off him. From this close their height difference was extreme. She had to lift her chin to look him in the eye. “It’s just a kiss.” 

“Just a kiss,” he repeated. 

“You scared, Queen?”

He was silent. Then— “No. I’m not scared.”

“Then just—” She had meant to say _kiss me_ only she didn’t get the words out because large, warm hands were gripping the sides of her face and tilting her lips up to meet his. Oliver Queen was kissing her. Not a quick peck but a warm, wet, drawn out kiss. A shiver shot down Felicity’s spine as his lips moved over hers. Her hand moved to grip the front of his shirt, seemingly of its own volition. Felicity felt as though the air had been suctioned straight out of her lungs yet she couldn’t find it in herself to care because who needed air when they could have this instead. The tiny portion of her brain that had not immediately turned to mush registered that all around them people were cheering. 

Felicity had no idea whether hours or mere seconds passed, but all too soon Oliver was pulling away, leaving a pronounced lack of warmth in his wake. She almost reached up to pull him back down only to remember at the last second where they were and that he’d only kissed her because he’d been forced to by a mob of drunken prep students for the sake of some ridiculous tradition. Felicity focused on straightening Sara’s dress, her cheeks burning. Around them people were stomping their feet and laughing. Oliver smiled down at her. It was a dangerous smile, glittering and razor edged. 

“So what’s the verdict, Smoak?” he asked. “Better than the lake?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what guys? I graduated from university! I'm kind of in shock. But anyway, here's a longish chapter to celebrate (long for me, it's not actually that long generally speaking). Happy Wednesday :)

The morning after the Burns, Felicity woke to find herself alone in the dormitory. She sat up slowly, wincing as the bright sunlight stung her eyes. Someone had propped open one of the tall windows by her bed and a cool breeze drifted into the room, popping goosebumps along her bare arms and swaying the heavy curtains. The room smelled of honeysuckle and in the distance she could make out the hum of cicadas. 

What time was it? Felicity grabbed the clock beside her bed and dragged it towards her.

12:30 PM. 

She grimaced. No wonder she was the only one in the dormitory. Everyone else would be in the library or at sports practice by now. Her eyes fell to the teetering stack of books and papers at the foot of her bed. She had so much to do and half the day was gone already. 

The weekend meant no uniform; a fact Felicity was eternally grateful for. She pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, piled as many textbooks into her bag as physically possible, and headed for the door. She’d go to the dining hall first, then head to the tutoring center. Over the past couple of weeks Felicity had discovered that it was pretty much abandoned on the weekends. It quickly became her hideaway for when she needed to get things done without being distracted by Sara drawing penises on her notebooks or Nyssa throwing tiny bits of paper at her, which is what usually happened when the three of them went to the library together. 

She could have her geometry homework done by three then start her French paper— Felicity froze, halfway down the long hallway outside her dormitory. She had been so upset about sleeping in that she had momentarily forgotten— _Oliver._ Her hand drifted unconsciously to her lips. How could she have forgotten? It all came rushing back: the dark shadows and the flickering torchlight; the masked figures and endless cups of... whatever that had been. And Oliver Queen kissing her before a crowd of cheering one-percenters as the cold stars winked down at them through a tangled canopy of branches. That had happened, too. 

A shaft of sunlight slid over her shoes and away across the richly carpeted floor, like a wave rolling towards the shore. A dusty suit of armor stared at her morosely from a recess between two of the tall windows that lined that hall. 

“Oh don’t you go judging me,” she said crossly. “You’re just a suit of armor. You don’t have to worry about these things. All you do is stand around all day like a useless lump. It must be 400 years since anyone's even put you on.”

“Now that’s not very nice.” 

Felicity started and turned toward the voice. 

Of course it was Oliver. He stood behind her, his bookbag slung over his shoulder, his sandy hair sticking up at all angles, watching her with that knowing smirk, as if he knew exactly what she’d just been thinking about.

“Are you sure you’re not half leopard,” she said crossly. "How does someone as big as you get around without making any noise?"

“Sorry," Oliver said, though he didn't look sorry at all. In fact he was smiling. “Maybe if you hadn’t been chastising the armor you would’ve heard me coming.” 

“I wasn’t chastising it! I was… okay fine, maybe I was chastising it a little.” She crossed her arms. “In my defense it’s very judgmental hunk of metal.” 

Oliver stepped toward the suit, tilting his head slightly as though he were sizing it up. “You know what, you’re right. This one looks like a right snarky bastard.” Oliver glanced back at her. The puddle of sunlight he’d stepped into gilded his outline gold and illuminated a deep purple bruise on his left cheekbone. Had that been there last night? Felicity didn’t remember seeing it. But then again it had been dark among the trees.

Oliver moved back to her side her. “Where are you off to? I’ll walk you… unless you wanted to finish your conversation with the armor?” 

“Haha," Felicity said. "No, I think Mr. Armor and I have finished our exchange. But I’m just going to the dining hall; you don’t have to walk me.” 

“That’s alright.” They were walking already, his hand on her elbow, guiding her. It was the lightest of touches, yet it sent a wave of pleasant shivers down her spine. 

“Besides,” he continued, “To be honest, I’ve been looking for you. I need your help with something. So really you’re doing me the favor.”

“Oh? What do you need help with?” 

As they walked her eyes drifted down to his hand on her arm. His nails were perfect flat ovals. That surprised her for some reason. 

“It’s a tech thing,” he said.

Felicity lifted her eyes to his, raising an eyebrow. “Ah. A tech thing. Of course.” She was quickly realizing that specificity was one of Oliver Queen's least favorite things. 

They came to a stop at the bottom of the grand staircase. The sounds of clattering dishware and chattering students rang out of the dining hall across the entryway. The smell of bacon tickled Felicity’s nose. Her stomach grumbled. 

“Tell you what,” Oliver said, glancing around. His hand was still at her elbow, as if to anchor her within his orbit. “What are you doing after this?”

“Going to the tutoring center,” Felicity said. “But I have a ton of homework, Oliver. I don’t have time—” 

“Great,” he interrupted. “I’ll meet you there in thirty?”

Before she could reply, he turned and strode into the dining hall. She scowled at his retreating form, silently adding disregard for other people’s personal time to his list of character traits. _That, and he’s a good kisser_ , the derelict side of her brain offered. _A really good kisser._ Something fluttered deep in the pit of her stomach and she didn’t think it was the hunger. 

_Goddamn it._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Felicity considered not going to the tutoring center after all. It would serve Oliver right to show up and find her not there, she thought, as she stuffed herself with waffles doused in maple syrup (the real kind; none of that fake Aunt Jemima stuff for Pembroke’s silver spoons). Arrogant ass, assuming she would just drop everything to help him. 

In the end, she went anyway. She told herself it was because at least she would be guaranteed a quiet place to study after Oliver left her in peace. In reality, she was curious. And yeah, maybe she even liked that he needed her. 

He showed up later than he said he would. Felicity was immersed into her geometry homework, her head bent close to the book, nodding along to the music pounding from her headphones. 

He tapped her on the shoulder. 

Felicity yelped, her chair tipping backwards as she bolted upright. Oliver’s hand shot out and righted the chair before it could dump her on the floor.

Jerking the earbuds from her ears, Felicity glared up at him. “Don’t you knock?” she asked breathlessly, her heart thudding enthusiastically against her ribcage.

“Felicity, this is the tutoring center. Not the ladies’ room.” Oliver settled himself on the edge of her desk, looking unperturbed by her reaction to his appearance. He grinned down at her. “Not that you seem overly concerned about the gendered division of restrooms anyway.” 

Of course he would bring up their initial encounter. Felicity had emerged from a shower stall to be informed by a half-naked Oliver that she’d accidentally showered in the men’s bathroom. The memory was firmly entrenched in her brain. Oliver had been slightly damp from all steam in the room, the outline of each muscle in his cut torso exposed to her wide eyed gaze… _Stop thinking about it!_

Felicity jerked her head to the side, as though she could shake the thoughts from her brain like a wet dog shaking itself dry. 

“Right.” She closed her book. “So what is it you need help with, Oliver?”

She had prepared herself for something strange. She really had. That didn’t mean she was prepared for him to draw a long, metal arrow out of his bag. 

"Right," she said faintly, "an arrow. Of course."

He ignored her. “My friend Tommy’s gotten really into archery lately but Pembroke doesn’t have an archery range. I’m donating the money to start one and I’d like them to stock it with these arrows. Only, I have no idea where to get them. I was hoping you could figure it out.”

She moved to take it from him but he held it just out of reach.

“Careful,” he said.

Felicity rolled her eyes and took it from him. The arrow was surprisingly light in her hands, the metal cool against her skin. Her gaze caught on a row of small numbers etched into the base of the shaft. “This compound is patented. I should be able to trace it. Give me a second.”

With her free hand she drew her laptop towards herself. The information he wanted shouldn’t be too difficult to find. Patent numbers were a matter of public record, available through the US Patent and Trademark Office. Felicity was actually a little surprised Oliver needed her help with this at all. She glanced at him. He was watching her with an almost reverential expression, as though she were performing magic rather than conducting a simple internet search. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t that surprising. The boy had been stuck on an island for the last three years. And when he’d disappeared he’d only been fifteen, not exactly the age most people develop an interest in patents and trademarks. 

The computer pinged as it settled on a positive match. “The patent is registered to a company called Sagittarius,” Felicity said, holding out the arrow for Oliver to take back. “That’s Latin. For the archer.”

He nodded to himself, staring down at the weapon in his hands. She could practically see the cogs turning in his brain. Felicity considered the possibility that he was telling the truth. She quickly dismissed it. Even if he did intend to found Pembroke's first archery range, why did he need to stock it with these particular arrows? There was something else going on here, something deeper.

“Felicity,” Oliver said, tearing her out of her thoughts. 

“Hm?” 

“I wanted to apologize.”

Her brow wrinkled. _Okay, not what I was expecting._ “For what?”

“For letting them make you kiss me last night.” His eyes flicked up to her face. They probed her face, dark and searching. “I know it was for tradition’s sake and all that crap. But I should have told them all to go screw themselves.”

“Oliver…” Felicity didn’t know what to say. On one hand, he was right. She had kind of been ambushed into kissing him. On the other hand, she didn’t regret it at all. In fact, she’d spent a good part of the morning trying to think of ways to get him to do it again. A dispiriting thought occurred to her. _What if he’s the one who regrets it?_

“You didn’t make me do anything,” she said slowly. “And anyway, I could say the same thing to you.” She focused on her hands, picking at the hangnail on her thumb, unable to look him in the face, not wanting to see what truth might lay there. “I mean, they made you kiss me too.”

"Felicity."

She forced herself to look up.

The ghost of a smirk played around the corner of his mouth, the sharpness that had characterized him last night returned. There was dangerousness to the way he looked at her. It made her want to things she would normally never do; it made her momentarily forget to breath. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I rarely do anything I don’t want to do. I’m selfish that way.” 

"Oh," was all she could think to say.

They sat there for a minute, just staring at each other. 

Then Oliver sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “That’s not the only thing I wanted to apologize for.”

She cocked her head to the side.

“That night you brought me the laptop. You offered to be friends and I never really took you up on it. I’ve been wanting to tell you— it wasn’t because I didn’t want to. I’ve just been… busy lately.”

Felicity raised an eyebrow. “Does your busyness have anything to do with how you got that bruise on your face?” Her fingers ghosted across the ridge of his cheek bone where the skin was purpled and slightly swollen. The heat of his skin penetrated her fingers and Oliver shifted, just an infinitesimal amount, so that for a second she thought he might lean into her hand. But then he seemed to think better of it. 

“It might,” he said, straightening up, smugness reinhabiting his features. “Then again it might not.” He grinned, and then grimaced as the motion pulled at the tender flesh around his bruise.

Felicity leaned toward him. “You’re not in a fight club, are you?” She glanced around, lowering her voice despite the fact that they were alone in the room. “I have been thinking this ever since I got here but this school totally seems like place that would have a fight club. You don’t have to say yes or no just wink or something if I’m right.” 

He just smiled. “Couldn’t tell you if I were, now could I? So what do you think, Smoak? Friends?”

For a single second, less than that even, Felicity hesitated. She had only known Oliver a few weeks but she could already tell that he was unlike anyone she had ever known before. Then again how many other billionaire castaways did she know? But it wasn’t just that. There was something… off about the boy, the man, really, sitting in front of her. She couldn't help feeling as though all his smirks and smiles were to some extent a facade, and beneath that lay a deep reservoir of... what? Anger? Grief? Whatever it was, she'd caught a glimpse of it that stormy night in his dormitory as he'd stared off into the darkness, his fists clenched by his sides as though he would fight the rain itself if it looked at him wrong. In the end it came down to a gut feeling. Despite her misgivings, Felicity trusted Oliver. 

So she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and she nodded.

“Yeah,” she said. “Friends.”


	8. Chapter 8

Fall came to Pembroke like a slow catching flame. By early October the foothills around the school were ablaze with color: yellow and orange, crimson and gold. Sometimes Felicity woke early to sit in her windowsill and watch the deep mists drift up from the rioting hills. It was in those quiet mornings, with the steam from her coffee mug slowly fogging up the window and Sara snoring softly in the next bed that a nascent contentment burgeoned inside her. Felicity couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment things had changed but at some point she had stopped feeling like an outsider and started thinking of the school as a sort of second home. Part of it, she decided, was simple the passage of time. Part of it was her friendships with Sara and Nyssa and Sin. Part of it was Oliver.

He seemed to have meant it when he said he wanted to be friends. After their talk he’d started coming by the tutoring center when he knew she’d be there. Sometimes he brought homework. Sometimes they talked. Sometimes they didn’t. Felicity rarely had friends with whom she didn’t feel the need to fill every lull in conversation with a joke or random factoid. No silence meant no opportunities for questions she didn’t want to answer. People told Felicity her babbling was endearing without realizing that one of its primary side effects was to keep those same people at arm’s length, to stop them from seeing the parts of her she didn’t wanted them to see. 

With Oliver things were different. Felicity knew he wouldn’t probe for information she didn’t offer up herself. Probably because he had his own short list of topics he’d rather not discuss. Felicity could guess at the big ones: his father’s death, his time on the island. But by now she also knew that wasn’t the whole story. 

On weekends, sometimes even on weeknights, Oliver disappeared and no one, not even his best friend, Tommy Merlyn, seemed to know where he went. He had a motorcycle—apparently one of the perks of having your mother as the head of the Board of Trustees—that he kept it in one of the garden sheds. Sometimes Felicity looked up from studying while in bed at night and saw the yellow circle from his headlight bouncing along the long driveway as he made his escape. No one ever stopped him. Another perk, she supposed.

Common belief held that Oliver was a regular on the Starling City nightclub circuit, only 45 minutes away. The students of Pembroke had lived with extreme privilege their entire lives. It was easy to for them believe that his deep pockets would make up up for the fact he was only 18. Every now and then the tabloids ran a photograph of him on some rooftop bar surrounded by a cadre of leggy model types, seemingly corroborating the rumors. 

Felicity couldn’t help feeling like there was more to the story but she was too afraid of straying away from their mutual ‘don’t ask don’t tell policy’ to bring it up. Tommy, however, didn’t seem to have the same hang up. One day in mid-October she overheard him and Oliver arguing at the lunch table. 

“I thought we were best friends, man,” Tommy said. “If you’re sneaking off to Starling without me, fine. Just don’t lie about it.”

Oliver sat stiffly beside him. A fresh bruise, molted purple and blue, blossomed beneath the stubble along his jawline. “It’s not like that,” he said. 

Tommy sneered. “What’s it like Oliver?” 

Oliver opened his mouth then closed it again.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Tommy shoved away from the table so hard the dishes rattled. “Do what you want. But don’t expect me to be hanging around when you finally decide that playing the loner asshole isn’t as much fun as you thought it’d be.”

That afternoon Oliver found Felicity where she sat beneath an old oak tree by the lake working on her French homework. 

“Hi there,” she said, shielding her eyes against the sun to look up at him. Lacework shadows slid languidly across the plush grass. The lake’s glasslike surface was a perfect mirror image of the searing blue sky overhead.

“Hey.” Oliver rubbed the toe of his oxford into the dirt, his hands stuffed into his pockets. 

Felicity raised an eyebrow. “You wanna sit?”

Oliver barely seemed to hear her. He slumped to the ground and titled his head back against the tree trunk, his forearms resting limply on his knees. Felicity didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know he was upset about the argument with Tommy. She also knew he’d shut up like a clam if she tried to talk to him about it. So she waited. 

A gentle breeze whispered through the fiery leaves above their heads. After a minute, Oliver sat forward, squinting into the distance, a deep furrow between his brows. “I’m not a very good friend, Felicity,” he said. “Sometimes I’m not even sure if I’m a good person.” 

Felicity closed her book, frowning. “Well, that seems a little dramatic. But if you want to be better—” she shrugged “—there’s always room for improvement, my mom would say. Of course, she would mean it in reference to how many tequila shots you can down before you puke all over your stilettoes. Not that you wear stilettoes. Not that there’d anything wrong with you wearing stilettoes. High heels were originally worn by men, you know, to make their calves look more shapely.” Oliver raised an eyebrow. “But never mind that,” Felicity said quickly, “The point is— if you want to be better, you can. You just have to know what you want and go for it.”

“And if I don’t know what I want?” Oliver’s visible eye slid toward her. It was a deep blue whirlpool, threatening to suck her into its depths. A half-turned leaf, molted red and green, drifted down and settled atop Oliver’s hair. Felicity plucked it free and rolled the stem between her fingers. 

“Well. Then I guess you have to figure that out.” She placed the splotchy leaf back on Oliver’s head, smiling slightly. “A thinking cap. In case you need the extra brain power.”

Oliver’s drawn expression cracked an infinitesimal amount, his lips curling into a faint half smile. “Thanks,” he said softly. It was barely a real smile, more like a shadow of one. But it was something. Felicity felt strangely proud for having been the cause of it. 

“Any time,” she said. 

Oliver leaned back against the tree trunk, taking care not to dislodge the leaf from its precarious position. Two swans glided by, sending small ripples undulating through the reflection of a large cumulus cloud. “Are you going on the field trip this weekend?” Oliver asked. 

“Ah, no.” Felicity turned her eyes back to her book as she pushed an errant strand of hair out of her face. “I don’t think so.” At breakfast on Monday the headmaster had announced there would be a two day field trip to the StarLabs facility in downtown Starling that weekend. The trip was open to any interested students. The group would stay overnight in a hotel, tour the facility, and attend a Q&A with some of the top scientists and technological innovators in the country. The total cost of the trip was 300 dollars—mere pocket change to most Pembroke students. 

Felicity didn’t have to look at Oliver to know his eyebrows had shot up. “You’re giving up a chance to go to StarLabs? That’s gotta be like the holy grail for you tech-nerds. I figured you’d be stampeding first years to get to the front of the line.”

“Yeah, it sounds cool. I just have a lot of work to do this weekend so...” She shrugged. _Don’t make me say it, Oliver._

Oliver frowned. “Oh, come on. You can’t have that much work.” 

Of course he wouldn’t catch the hint. “Oliver, you know I’m here on scholarship,” Felicity said, purposefully avoiding his gaze.

His face fell. “Oh.”

“Yeah. But it’s fine,” Felicity said, waving her hand as though missing the opportunity to visit StarLabs wasn’t absolutely killing her inside. She flipped the page of her French textbook. She had no idea what she was reading. She had a better chance of teaching herself to walk on her hands than she had of becoming fluent in any language that was not English or a programming script. “This way I might not actually fail the French exam on Monday.”

Oliver hesitated. “Felicity, you’re going to say no but—”

Felicity glanced at him sharply. “No, Oliver.”

The leaf slipped from his head as he sat up. “Look, just think of it as me finally paying you back for the tech support. At the risk of sounding like a self-entitled asshole, 300 dollars isn’t that much money to me.”

Felicity rolled her eyes. “You sound like a self-entitled asshole.”

“Guilty. Look, if you don’t use the money my sister’s just going to spend it on jeans that are... what do they call it?” He shook his head. “Artfully ripped? I’d rather invest it in the future of mankind.”

Felicity snorted. “What are you talking about?”

“You, of course.” Oliver patted her on the knee. It was a brotherly gesture. Yet the contact left a warm tattoo on her skin. “You’re going to do great things, Felicity Smoak.”

“Oh, shut up,” she groused. But he was wearing her down. Visiting StarLabs would be a dream come true. A beautiful solar-powered, cutting-edge technical dream. And it could be real. All she had to do was swallow her stupid pride. 

“Fine,” Felicity said. “But I’ll owe you,” she added quickly. "I’ll owe you like a hundred favors.”

“Which I will happily collect.” Oliver grinned self-satisfactorily and held out his hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Smoak”

 

Sara was already in the bathroom when Felicity went to brush her teeth that night. She glanced up from tweezing her eyebrows as Felicity set her facewash down on the counter beside her.

Sara smiled. "Hey, New Girl." Felicity had given up asking at what point she was going to stop being the new girl. The nickname had lost most of its original meaning by now; it was just what Nyssa and Sara called her. 

Felicity smiled back. "Hey." She squeezed a line of toothpaste onto her brush. As she set to brushing, she could feel Sara’s eyes continuously flicking over to glance at her. 

Felicity bent over the sink to spit out the last bit of toothpaste. When she straightened up she turned to Sara. “Okay, what is it. You’ve been staring at me for the last five minutes like you just found out I have a terminal disease or something.” 

Sara bit her lip. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Say anything about what?”

“It’s just... you’ve been hanging out with Oliver a lot lately.”

Felicity had a sinking feel. She had a feeling she knew where this was going. “Yeah, I guess so,” she admitted.

“I’m just a little worried, is all.” 

“Sara,” Felicity said. “You’re the one who orchestrated me kissing him at the Burns.”

Sara made a face that suggested she now regretted this very much. “I know! But my judgement was seriously impaired by whatever was in that jungle juice.” She grimaced. “And honestly I didn’t think it would turn into anything.”

Felicity rolled her eyes. “It hasn’t turned into anything. We’re just friends.”

“Yeah, well, Oliver’s not really known for having platonic friendship with girls.” Sarah tugged on the end of her ponytail. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do, I swear. It’s just ever since Oliver’s been back he’s acted really strange. Like strange even for someone who was stranded on an island for three years. Don’t get me wrong, I’d probably be acting weird too if I’d been through what he did. But you’re my friend, and whatever dark place Oliver’s stuck in right now, I don’t want to see you get sucked down there with him.”

Felicity knew Sara's worry came from a good place, even if she herself believed it was unfounded. Her face softened. “Sara, I swear, nothing is happening there." She tried a joke. "I’m pretty sure I’m like a foot too short to be Oliver’s type.” 

This didn’t seem to comfort Sara. It actually made her look more pained. She seemed like she was about to say something, but then shook her head and thought better of it. Instead, she squeezed Felicity’s hand. “New Girl, you’re the best of us. You didn’t grow up in this world with all the secrets and the manipulation and the lies. You’ve got a big heart. I just don’t want to see it broken. So just be careful, okay?”

Felicity nodded slowly. “Okay,” she said. “I promise.”

Later that night, Felicity stared up at the small sea of shadows caught in the canopy above her bed, Sara’s words turning over and over in her mind. Not the part about Oliver. In that respect, Sara hadn’t told Felicity much she didn’t already know. Felicity could tell that the island haunted him. She had seen him with his other friends, how he always laughed half a second after everyone else as though he’d had to remind himself that was the proper response to a joke. And she was plenty aware of his revolving door of girls. Since she’d been at Pembroke he’d been with Laurel, McKenna, Helena, and who knew how many random models and socialites during the nights he spent in Starling. 

No, what niggled at Felicity wasn’t what Sara had had to say about Oliver; it was the part about her. Sara had said that she, Felicity, was the best of them. But Felicity knew that wasn’t true. Sara had warned Felicity about the manipulation and lies of the Pembroke crowd as though they were foreign concepts to her when in reality Felicity knew herself to be far, far less than perfect. The fact that her friends apparently viewed her as some sort of paradigm of goodness made her feel like she was living a lie. _Well aren’t you?_ sneered a small voice in the back of her head. _I never lied about who I am,_ the rest of her protested. _No,_ agreed the voice, _just about how you got here._

 _Ugh._ Felicity rolled onto her side just in time to be distracted from her guilt by the sight of the yellow beam from Oliver’s headlight bounding down the driveway before fading into the darkness as his motorcycle crested a hill. He was probably off to Starling to get busy with some model in possession of legs the length of Felicity’s entire body. Felicity felt a stab of something she couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t jealousy, or even annoyance. The word longing popped into her mind but she quickly dismissed it as a possibility. Friends didn’t long for each other. And that’s what she and Oliver were: friends. Felicity flopped onto her back, huffing a small sigh of discontent. 

Eventually, exhaustion began to tug at her eyelids. When, sometime later, she finally did fall asleep, Felicity dreamt of crashing waves and wheeling carrion birds. A life boat drifted in the distance, in an oasis of stillness surrounding by roiling ocean. And in the boat stood Felicity’s father, watching with an indiscernible expression as the tide slowly pulled her under.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I haven't had a chance to edit this too much but I'm going on vacation for the 4th this week and wanted to get it out before I left. I'm sure I'll find a whole bunch of typos soon as I post it but that's how it goes! Thank so much to everyone who's left kudos/reviews!

Felicity stepped down from the bus and gazed up in wonderment at Star Lab’s wavelike glass exterior. The walls seemed to wink in the autumn sunshine, mirroring Felicity’s own giddy excitement. She felt like someone had injected poprocks straight into her veins. Although, she supposed, that could also be the three cups of coffee she downed on her way out the door that morning.

Oliver hopped down beside her just as a gust of cold wind swept across the parking lot. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his navy pea coat and tilted his head back to gaze up at the building. “Excited?” he asked. Felicity resisted the urge to do a little happy dance. 

“Not at all,” she said cheerily. “Whatever gave you that idea?” They smiled at each other for a moment before a droll voice behind them said, “We get it; you’re both pretty to look at. Now if you wouldn’t mind, the rest of us would like to get off this godforsaken deathtrap.”

“Sorry, Professor.” Oliver grinned and tugged Felicity out of the way so that Professor Taylor, Pembroke’s Latin professor and the field trip chaperone, could get off the bus. Taylor had spent most of the ride into the city clutching the seat in front of her and moaning softly ever time the bus went around a curve. She was still a bit green in the face.

A tour guide in a red Star Labs polo met the Pembroke group in the lobby. She explained that the research done at this particular facility was largely devoted theoretical technologies: psionics, miniaturization, teleportation, extraterrestrial research, among others. A lanky kid with a shock of blonde hair the same shade as duckling fur, raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a load of science fiction crap if you ask me.”

“Would you say the same about space travel, organ transplantation, or nuclear technology?” The tour guide seemed to be trying very hard not to roll her eyes. “Until very recently in human history all three were considered improbable, if not utterly impossible. Yet, as Isaac Asimov once said, today’s science fiction is tomorrow’s science fact. At Star Labs we aim to bridge the gap between the two.” She clapped her hands. “Now if you’ll follow me, we’re going to start with the psionics lab.” The duckling-haired kid sniffed and crossed his arms. “That’s not the same thing,” he muttered while his friends jabbed him in the ribs and laughed. “It’s not!”

Felicity had spent a large portion of her childhood being told she had a very vivid imagination. Yet nothing her mind had conjured up rivaled the reality of Star Labs. The state of the art facility was just as sleek inside as it was out: light flooded in through the high windowed ceilings and slid across polished countertops cluttered with burets and beakers and microscopes, all of it glittering like a crystalline treasure trove. White coated scientists bustled in and out of the labs, every now and then pausing to input data into razor thin computers. Their tour guide ushered the Pembroke group from one room to another, pointing out the most exciting things in each one.

Oliver and Felicity trailed behind the rest of the group, mostly because Felicity kept stopping every few feet to ogle. She couldn’t help noticing that Oliver seemed more interested in watching her reactions than in the actual technology itself. She momentarily wondered why he had decided to come on the trip in the first place when, as far as she could tell, theoretical technology was not exactly one his primary interests. However, she was quickly distracted by a teleportation simulator and the thought flitted away, unfinished.

As the group passed by a nondescript hallway sometime later, Oliver grabbed Felicity’s hand and pulled her down it. 

“Oliver,” she gasped, “what’re you—”

“Shh”—pressing a finger to Felicity’s lips, Oliver poked his head around the corner. Satisfied that the group had gone on without them Oliver turned back to her. His finger fell away, but the imprint felt burned onto her lips. 

“I want to show you something,” Oliver said. 

“Usually I’m the one making innuendos,” Felicity said breathlessly. Her back was pressed up to the wall, Oliver’s body hemming her in. Heat radiated off his body and into hers. Felicity swallowed, forcing herself to resist the urge to smooth her hand across the flat planes of his chest. The corner of Oliver’s mouth twitched. 

“Not that.”

Felicity shook her head, as much to clear the away the fog that had settled over her brain as to disagree. “Mm, no. I want to see the nanotech printer.”

“Felicity, this is better than a nanotech printer.”

Felicity snorted. “What could be better than a nanotech printer?” 

Oliver raised one eyebrow. “You’ll have to wait and see.” His gaze was was the same color and intensity as the center of a flame. Felicity resisted the urge to shudder beneath the weight of it. 

Curiosity crept up her spine and poked its head over her shoulder, whispering cajolingly into her ear. “Fine,” Felicity said. “Fine. But if I’m going to miss the nanotechnology lab this had better be good!” 

Unlike the rest of the facility, the hallway was windowless, although every now and then they passed by an unlabeled door. Eventually the floor began to slope downward. The only sound was the low hum of air flushing through the ventilation system above their heads. 

“Oliver,” Felicity said after a few minutes, “I really don’t think we’re supposed to be down here.” She was beginning to regret letting him tear her away from the group. The hallway seemed to go on forever, occasionally winding this way or that but never coming to an end. How many labs was she missing out on while they skulked around down here? She was about to insist they go back so she could see the damn nanotech printer when the hallway swung sharply to the left and came to an abrupt stop at a door emblazed with the words “Authorized Personnel Only.” A small black security box blinked demurely by the door handle. 

“I stand corrected” Felicity said, “we’re _definitely_ not supposed to be down here.”

Ignoring her, Oliver reached into his back pocket and pulled out a Star Labs identification card. If the photo was anything to go by, it belonged to woman with curly red hair and horn rimmed glasses. 

“Um, unless you’ve had some work done recently I’m pretty sure that’s not yours,” Felicity said. “Where did you get it?” 

“Found it,” Oliver said, though the tiny smile dancing around the corner of his mouth told her otherwise. He tapped the card against the security pad; there was a soft click and the door swung open. Oliver glanced over his shoulder at Felicity. “You coming?” His voice lingered in the hallway as he disappeared through the door. 

“Ooh, this is such a bad idea.” Yet somehow standing in the hallway alone felt worse than doing the prohibited thing. Felicity pushed through the door after him. Her mouth dropped open. Whatever she had been expecting it wasn’t this. She was standing on a glass observation deck. Digital work stations lined the walls and down below—

Felicity’s heart fluttered against her chest as the realization sunk in. She glanced at Oliver. “Is that—?” 

“A particle accelerator?” He nodded. “I thought you’d like to see it but it’s not exactly on the general tour so—”

Felicity floated over to the glass and pressed her hands up against it. “ _Like_ to see it?” she murmured. “I might die. Of happiness, I mean,” she added quickly. “That’s a real thing, you know: I read about this man in California—he was 29, really fit, ran every day, always ate his vegetables. Then he won the lottery and he was just so happy—poof. Dead as a door nail.” She sucked down a deep breath. This was quite possibly the best day of her life. She said so. Smiling, Oliver moved to stand beside her at the window. “Felicity—” There was an uncharacteristic hesitancy in his voice—“I need to tell you something. I—”

Before he could finish there was a hiss and a click and door to the hallway swung open once more and a tall, dark haired scientist in a white coat walked onto the observation deck. He was looking down at his tablet and for a moment he didn’t notice them. Felicity froze, like a deer in headlights. _We are so screwed._

Then, for the second time in five minutes, Felicity’s mouth dropped open. The longer the man stood there, the more familiar he’d looked and suddenly she had realized why; his face had been all over every issue of every _Technology Today_ Felicity had received since her mom had ordered her the subscription for Hanukkah three years ago. “Harrison Wells.” She gaped. “You’re Harrison Wells.” At the sound of his name Wells looked up, his eyes widening as he caught sight of the two teenagers.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to down here!”

Oliver grabbed Felicity by the hand and pulled her toward the door. “Whoops, sorry, sir,” he said. “Got lost looking for the cafeteria. It was my fault—” he gestured to Felicity—“she kept telling me to stop and ask for directions but you know us men, gotta do everything ourselves.” 

“Oliver,” Felicity said stupidly, “that’s Harrison Wells!”

“It’s not polite to stare. Come _on_ , Felicity.” 

Before Wells could call security or do whatever else he was going to do, Oliver had tugged Felicity though the door, and then they were running—up the sloping floor, past all the unmarked doors, a stitch blossoming just below Felicity’s breasts. The hallway seemed much shorter on the way out than it had on the way in. Soon they burst back into the main corridor and even then they didn’t stop until, by some stroke of luck, they turned a corner and ran smack into the tail end of the Pembroke group just as Professor Taylor was finishing a headcount. 

“Where’ve you two been?” Professor Taylor demanded. “Don’t think I didn’t see you sneak off.” Felicity winced. _Okay, maybe they weren't so lucky after all._

Oliver and Felicity glanced at each other. Felicity’s heart was still pounding anxiously against her ribcage “We had to go to the bathroom,” she blurted.

Professor Taylor raised an eyebrow. “Both of you?”

“Uh, yeah. Really bad diarrhea.” Felicity flushed. “I mean not diarrhea.” She searched for another excuse. “Menstrual cramps!”

“Menstrual cramps.” Professor Taylor looked pointedly at Oliver. “The both of you.” The other students tittered softly behind her. 

The professor looked from one of them to the other, when neither spoke she sighed deeply, as though seriously reconsidering her career choice. “The quality of youth excuses has seriously degraded in the past few decades. But you know what? I’m not paid enough to care. So just stay with the group from now on, okay?” 

Felicity nodded emphatically, her cheeks burning. Oliver just grinned. 

“If either of you need a maxi pad during the rest of the day, just give me a yell,” Taylor added sarcastically, before heading back to the front of the group.

Despite the somewhat disastrous end to their adventure, Felicity floated up to her hotel room that night in a happy daze. She had been to Star Labs, seen a particle accelerator, and met (in a very loose interpretation of the term) her idol, Harrison Wells. All in all, not a bad day.

Oliver had disappeared immediately after dinner, claiming he had promised to meet up with his mom while he was in the city and Felicity hadn’t felt like hanging out in the lobby with the other kids. Duckling-Hair in particular was getting on her nerves.

In typical Pembroke style, all the students had been assigned their own hotel room. It seemed like an immense luxury to Felicity, but she wasn’t going to complain. She let herself into her room and headed straight for the bathroom. She’d been freezing all day and what she wanted more than anything was a nice, hot shower.

Felicity could feel the tension unwind from her shoulder as the water pounded onto them, steam fogging up the bathroom. She stayed in until her fingers began to prune (if she’d been at home in Las Vegas the hot water would have run out long ago), then stepped out and pulled an immense, fluffy white robe down from the towel rod. A contented sigh slipped from her lips as she wrapped the robe loosely around her torso; it felt like slipping on a cloud. 

Cold air rushed over Felicity’s damp skin as she stepped out of the bathroom. It was freezing in the main room. She quickly realized why: the window was open, the gauzy curtains floating an inch above the sill in the night breeze. Felicity hovered by the bed, water dripping in a halo around her feet. She could have sworn the window had been closed when she came in. Maybe a maid had come in while she was in the shower and opened it for some reason? A cold gust of air swept into the room, dancing the curtains and sending a violent shiver down Felicity’s spine. 

Goosebumps popped like constellations along her arms as she crossed to the window. She lifted her arms, intending to yank it shut. As she did, her eyes fell on a stain at the corner of the windowsill. It was dark, reddish-brown. It looked disturbingly like—

Someone wheezed softly behind her. Felicity spun around.

The Starling Vigilant lay on the floor alongside the edge of her bed. Blood leaked from a small hole in the leathers over his shoulder, picking out crimson spots on the carpet beneath him. 

Felicity tried to swallow but her throat was suddenly drier than the Las Vegas desert. 

“Don’t move,” she croaked. “I’m calling the police.” Her hand scrabbled for her cellphone only for her to remember it was still in the back pocket of her jeans, which were lying in a pile on the bathroom floor. Of course it was. Panicking, Felicity’s eyes flitted around the room for something she could use as a weapon. 

Seeming to sense her thought process, the vigilante struggled up onto his elbow. “Felicity,” he grunted. “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

Felicity’s heart slowed its pounding just a fraction of a beat. “How do you know my name?” 

The vigilante shoved back his hood. His hair was nearly black with sweat and blood, his face stained with paint grease and contorted in pain. Yet there was no mistaking him—

For the third time that day, Felicity’s mouth dropped open. 

_“Oliver?”_


	10. Chapter 10

Oliver Queen was the Vigilante. 

_Oliver was the Vigilante._

The puzzle pieces slid together in an obvious, perfunctory way: the nighttime disappearances, the bruises that appeared fresh every morning, the bullet ridden computer. He’d brought her an _arrow_ for god’s sake. It all seemed so obvious that Felicity could hardly believe she hadn’t guessed the truth weeks ago.

And yet... hadn’t she? Lying in bed at night, watching the light from Oliver’s motorcycle disappear down the driveway, hadn’t there been a tiny part of her that had thought _maybe? Just maybe?_ The clues had been there all along, staring her in the face with wide, unblinking eyes. She had simply lacked the will to piece them together and see them for what they really were. Well, there was no avoiding it now. Not with Oliver lying on her floor, wearing the Vigilante’s costume, his face scrunched up in pain from the bullet hole in his shoulder—

Snapping out her reverie, Felicity fell to her knees by Oliver’s shoulder. “You’re bleeding!” 

“I don’t need to be told that,” Oliver grunted.

“Hey, do not get cheeky with me right now—bleeding vigilantes do not get to be cheeky.” Felicity sucked down a deep breath. She could freak out about Oliver’s secret identity later, once she ensured he didn’t take up yet another persona— that of dead teenager. “Wow, okay. You need a hospital—I’ll call an ambulance.” She tried to stand but Oliver grabbed her wrist, shaking his head.

“Felicity, I can’t go to a hospital. I need to you to help me get to my father’s old factory in the Glades.”

Felicity tried to think clearly despite the tide of hysteria clawing its way up her throat. It was a monumental task-- this was insane on so many levels. Oliver was the vigilante. Oliver was the vigilante and he was shot and refusing medical care in favor of a field trip to one of his dad’s old factories. “Oliver, I know you said you don’t need to be told that you’re bleeding; but apparently you do because this worst plan I’ve ever heard. You are _shot_. You need a doctor, not a steel worker.”

“I know it sounds crazy but I need you to trust me— I don’t exactly have a lot of time here.”

She couldn’t believe he was acting like she was the one being unreasonable. And yet, in at least one way, Oliver was right; he didn’t have a lot of time. Whatever Felicity was going to do, she had to do now. _Oh, I am so going to regret this._

“Fine,” she snapped, “fine! But if you die on the way to your stupid factory, I am so not mourning you.” 

Oliver managed a tight smile. “Fair enough.” 

Frowning down at Oliver’s leather clad form Felicity said, “And we’re going to have to do something about your... get up.” She grabbed her overnight bag and tore through it for her favorite oversized zip up. Oliver growled—bared teeth and all, as Felicity eased his injured arm out of the vigilante jacket and into the soft cotton sweatshirt. As she did, she caught a glance of the wound that was the cause of all this trouble. It was small, a perfect circle half an inch across just below his collarbone. There was less blood than Felicity had expected—the real danger seemed to be Oliver’s body going into shock rather than bleeding out. Small comfort, but she’d take it. 

Felicity had nothing to swap out for Oliver’s leather pants. Hopefully they’d make it out of the hotel without being seen but if not—the best they could hope was that people chalked the pants up to a youthful fashion choice rather than the trappings of vigilantism. At least Felicity’s sweatshirt black; it would take a while before blood seeping into the fabric became visible. 

Felicity grabbed two clean hand towels from the bathroom and tucked one into the sweatshirt as a makeshift compress. The other she used to carefully wipe the greasepaint from Oliver’s face. Realizing she was still wearing a fluffy bathrobe, Felicity grabbed her clothes from the bathroom, slid on her shoes, and hurried back to Oliver. “Can you stand?” she asked. Oliver nodded. Felicity hooked her hands under his arms and heaved—God, he was heavy—then lifted his arm around her shoulders as he began to sway. “If you feel like you’re gonna fall just yell timber,” she said jokingly, but her sense of humor fled as she glanced up and saw Oliver’s eyes squeezed shut, his face white as a sheet. 

“There’s a service elevator at the end of the hall.” Oliver groaned. “Less people.”

Felicity poked her head out the door, only stepping out after she saw that the hallway was abandoned. Together, the two of them stumbled to the elevator like some strangely lopsided two-headed beast. There was a small security camera at the end of the hallway. Felicity made a mental note to hack the hotel’s system as soon as she got the chance and delete any footage of the two of them.

The service elevator let them out into a shadowy laundry room. A light flickered overhead, and the smell of wet socks and detergent mixing confusingly in Felicity’s nose. To the left, an exit sign glowed softly in the darkness. The door let out into a narrow street between their hotel and the equally ostentatious one next door. A storm had rolled in and lashes of frigid rain stung the exposed skin on their hands and faces.

Twenty feet up the street a single yellow taxi was parked against the curb . They made for it, squinting to see through the undulating sheets of water. In seconds, they were soaked to the bone. Felicity yanked open the taxi door and Oliver slid in, his low groan drowned out by a sudden clap of thunder. Lightning split the sky as Felicity slipped in after him and pulled the door shut behind her. 

“What’re you doing?” Oliver mumbled. “Go back inside.”

“Hell no,” Felicity hissed under her breath, shoving a lock of dripping hair out of her face. “I’m not leaving you until I know for sure whether I have to kill you for dying on me.”

“Hey, he alright?” the taxi driver asked, nodding to Oliver.

“Who, him?” Felicity laughed. “Oh, yeah, he just ate some bad shellfish.” She swatted Oliver on his good arm. “I keep telling him they’re not kosher for a reason but he never listens.” Cheerfully as she could manage, she said, “We’d like to go to the Glades, please.”

The taxi driver raised an eyebrow. “You got a specific address, blondie?”

“Uh...” Felicity glanced at Oliver and silently gave thanks when he managed to supply one.

The cabdriver glanced between them and for a moment Felicity feared he had noticed Oliver's stupid pants as they'd gotten in. But then he simply shrugged, stamped out his cigarette in an ashtray on the dashboard, and peeled away from the curb into the oncoming traffic. 

“You two going out there on a dare?” The taxi driver asked, glancing at them in the rearview mirror.

“Uh, what?” Felicity said, tearing her gaze away from Oliver’s pallid face.

“Those old factories, the kids go out there on dares sometimes. They say they’re haunted.”

“Yeah,” Felicity said gratefully. “Yeah, it’s a dare. Hopefully we’ll see some ghosts!” _Possibly Oliver’s_ , she thought wryly, _if we don’t get there soon._

The taxi driver nodded and seemed to relax a little, having found himself an appropriate explanation for their midnight adventure. Felicity was coming to realize the mental acrobatics people would go through in order to reconcile themselves with the strange and usual. She had done it herself with Oliver, putting on blinders to ignore the clues that had popped up like sign posts pointing her towards the truth ever since she had known him. 

Beyond the window, the city lights slipped by in a glittering blur. Oliver’s head rested onto Felicity’s shoulder, his breaths coming shallow and uneven. “Hey.” Felicity said, patting Oliver’s cheek. A thin sheen of cold sweat coated his face. How long had it been since he was shot—thirty minutes? An hour? Panic stabbed at her heart. “Oliver!”

“Mm.” He lifted his head an infinitesimal amount. “It’s alright. It’s alright, I’m awake.” 

Felicity fell back against the seat, her heart thudding against her ribs. _Yeah_ , she thought, _but for how much longer?_

Rain pounded more violently against the taxi’s windows, obscuring the outside world from view; even if Felicity had been familiar with Starling’s streets she wouldn’t have been to tell how far they had traveled or where they were now. It seemed like forever before the taxi pulled to the side of the road and stopped. Felicity was only mildly surprised when Oliver managed to conjure cash to pay the man. 

She helped Oliver out of the cab and it pulled away, the taillights glimmering as they faded into the distance. It was still raining and there were no streetlights in this part of town. The dark seemed to creep up around them, pressing in from all sides. Behind them a hulking shadow towered over the road—the Queens' old factory. "Well, we're here," Felicity said dubiously. "What now?" 

Oliver picked that moment to finally lose consciousness. He slumped to the ground, nearly dragging Felicity with him as her knees buckled under the weight of his entire body. 

For a moment, Felicity stood frozen, hot dread rushing through her veins. Then instinct took over. Oliver must have had a reason for wanting to come here. Maybe he had friends holed up in the factory, someone who could help. Later, Felicity would hardly remember running across the dark pavement, rain dripping into her eyes, bursting into the factory her calls for help drowned out by sudden claps of thunder. She did retain a strong memory of the first time she set eyes on Dig-- he'd exploding from the basement at the sound of her pleas and she vaguely remembered thinking something along the lines of _his arms are bigger than my torso_. But most of the rest of the night—seeing the foundry for the first time, Dig peeling the towel off Oliver’s bullet wound and muttering, “Damn it, just missed the carotid,” Oliver crashing, Dig bringing him back to life with a defibrillator—it all melded together into a jumble of indistinct images and sounds. Felicity wouldn’t remember that the second time Oliver crashed the defibrillator had short circuited and she’d had to rewire it to get it working again. She wouldn’t remember Dig raising his eyebrows and asking ‘What did you do?” She wouldn’t remember shrugging and saying, “I’ve been fixing computer since I was seven. Wires are wires.”

Mostly Felicity would remember the feeling of relief when Dig finally laid down the tools he’d used to sew up the bullet hole and, glancing at her, said “I’d say he's pretty much out if the woods at this point. Thanks to you, mostly.” He held out his hand. “I'm John Diggle, by the way. You can call me Dig. And I’m guessing you are Felicity.”

Felicity shook his hand. “How'd you know?” she asked.

Smiling vaguely, Dig looked over his shoulder at Oliver's prone form. "He might've mentioned you one or two times. But don’t tell him I told you so.” His chuckle was deep and rumbling. “I prefer my head attached to my shoulders.”

Felicity didn’t know what to say. Oliver had talked about her? Here, in the midst of his secret second life he’d been thinking about her? She didn't know what to make of that. 

Dig conjured a small pile of clothes out of a wooden trunk nearby and gave them to Felicity. "I thought you might want to change out of those wet things. These are Oliver’s so I’m sure they’ll be huge on you but it’s better than nothing.” Dig turned around while she shucked her rain soaked clothes and tugged on the giant shirt and sweatpants. He was right; the clothes were huge on her. But they were soft and dry and they smelled good: like pine and a hint of something else...lavender? 

“You can turn around,” Felicity said, rolling up each sleeve six times. Dig smiled at the sight of her drowning in Oliver’s clothes. For a minute they stood side by side, watching Oliver's chest rise and fall. A couple times his breath caught and Felicity’s eyes flew to the heart monitor, expecting it to flat line. But then the moment would pass and Oliver would exhale. Only then could Felicity seem to find her own breath again.

Dig nodded to a large chair in front the computer table. "It’s no Tempur-Pedic but you should get some rest. I’ll take you back to the hotel in the morning. Maybe you’ll still be able to sneak back in before they realize you’re gone."

Felicity slipped her hand into Oliver's. "I think I’m gonna to stay up with him a little longer," she said quietly.

Dig raised an eyebrow but he didn’t protest. He made his way over to a straight-back chair on the other side of the room and promptly fall asleep, his snores mingling with the soft beeps of the cardiac monitor. 

Asleep, Oliver looked so much younger. _Unconscious_ , she reminded herself, _not asleep. Not exactly the same thing._ Still, the result was the same. In this state, Oliver’s face had an innocence Felicity had never seen before; remnants of the boy he’d been before the island rising to the surface. It was in the way his dark lashes dusted the curve of his cheek. The slight part of his lips. 

Dig had said Oliver was out of the woods. Still, fear niggled its way back into Felicity’s brain. She couldn't lose him now, not when she finally knew the truth- when she could finally understand. Before Felicity knew what she was doing she had leaned over and kissed Oliver on the lips. Just once, softly—a promise of something she couldn’t put into words. She straightened up, blushing furiously even though there was no one awake to see what she'd done. "Just in case," she murmured. 

She intended to stay awake until Oliver woke up, however long that would be. But eventually the siren song of sleep proved too strong and she fell asleep, curled up in the chair like a cat, Oliver's hand still clasped in hers.


	11. Chapter 11

Felicity woke with a start, sleep spitting her out as abruptly as it had claimed her. She forced her eyes open and for a moment the world swum before her; then she pushed her glasses up her nose and things fell neatly into focus. 

Oliver was sitting up on the med table in front of her while the man she’d met the night before—Dig—took his blood pressure. Though he was pale as a ghost and dark circles shadowed his eyes, Oliver was breathing and talking and doing all of the things not dead people did and for the first time since Felicity had found him bleeding out on the floor of her hotel room, the vice squeezing her heart loosened its grip a fraction of an inch.

Felicity’s chair creaked as she unfolded her numb legs from beneath her and Oliver and Diggle glanced around.

“Hi,” Oliver said. He had a thick grey blanket thrown around his bare shoulders. A clean white bandage covered his injury. 

There were a hundred things Felicity wanted to say to him. During the night, when she thought there was a chance she might lose him, she had made lists of all the things she’d tell him if only he woke up. Now that he had all she could manage was a soft, “hey.” 

Dig glanced between them, one eyebrow raised. Clapping Oliver slowly on his good shoulder he said, “I’ll give you two a minute.” 

Oliver nodded and Dig disappeared up the stairs, the door clanging shut behind him.

The night before Felicity had been too distracted by the possibility of Oliver dying to pay much attention to her surroundings. Now that he was safely in the land of the living her curiosity got the better of her. She stood slowly, her eyes widening as they flitted around the room. 

Felicity knew they were in the basement of an abandoned Queen Consolidated factory but it felt more like the underbelly of a giant metal beast. An exoskeleton of steel beams thrust up from the floor, shadowy and menacing. Pipes ran along the ceiling like metallic arteries. Clouds of steam belched out of a vent in the back of the floor. It didn't help that the only source of light came from a few green tinted industrial lamps scattered around the room. 

When Felicity was in junior high school, her mother’s boyfriend at the time, Greg, had taken her caving in Great Basin National Park. Out of all Donna’s boyfriends, Greg was the one Felicity had hated the least. He’d been a financial analyst and spent most of his time at their apartment reading the Wall Street Journal and drinking chamomile tea. He and Felicity had had a quiet understanding; unlike some of the others who had tried to get her to call them ‘dad’ or attempted to buy her affection with cheap presents from the gift shop at the Grand, Greg was happy to quietly coexist with her, occasionally asking after her computers and every now and then taking her on excursions like the one to Great Basin. Oliver’s lair reminded her of those caves. It was cool and dark and slightly damp. All that was missing were the stalactites and the bats.

To Felicity’s left was a long table covered in all manner of pointy objects: arrows of all sizes, small daggers, long hooked knives. Beneath it was a weathered wooden trunk with Chinese characters etched into the top. Felicity wrinkled her nose at setup of Oliver’s computer system. It looked like it was from the eighties. And not even the good part of the eighties. Oliver didn’t say anything as Felicity wandered over to the weapon-laden table but she could feel his eyes boring a hole into the back of her head.

“I’m going to assume you use these strictly for cooking purposes,” she said idly, ghosting her fingers over a hooked dagger that shimmered portentously in the low lighting. 

“Careful,” Oliver warned, just as Felicity tapped her finger against one of the arrow heads. Instantaneously a crimson bead blossomed from her skin. Letting the blanket drop from his shoulders, Oliver grabbed a first aid kit and slid down from the med table.

“It’s fine,” Felicity said, “it’s barely a cut.” 

Oliver ignored her, gently taking her hand and inspecting it before swiping the injured finger with antiseptic and deftly wrapping it in a clean piece of gauze. When he was done he didn’t let go, staring down at her hand as though attempting to memorize each line that crisscrossed her palm, each whorl of each fingerprint. “You saved my life,” he said. His eyes flitted up to hers. “Thank you.” 

The pipes creaked. Steam hissed up through the grate in the back of the room. For a moment Felicity forgot how to speak, how to breathe. Oliver’s eyes were blue, blue, blue. They reminded her of a glacial pool she’d seen in a National Geographic magazine—cold and remote, its depths nearly impossible to tell from the surface. Felicity’s mind flitted back to the night of the Burns, to the feeling of Oliver’s soft lips moving over hers, and a deep shudder ran through her body. It felt like a memory from another life time. A dream, even. Felicity had the overwhelming urge to recreate the moment but without the crowd of prep students egging her on the prospect seemed far more daunting. 

“You’re welcome,” Felicity managed finally. She hesitated, biting her lip. “Oliver—” 

He cocked his head in question.

Felicity chose her next words with care. At least, with as much care as could be reasonably expected from someone utterly lacking in the brain to mouth filter department. 

“I don’t know much about what you’re doing down here with...all of this. In the paper they say that the Vigilante—that you—target the rich. They call you Robin Hood. And that’s honorable and everything, I mean Robin Hood is one of my favorite anti-heroes of all time. I have the movie poster on my wall at home—the 1938 one with Basil Rathbone not that new one with the guy from Gladiator—but I just... have you ever considered that there might be another way to help people that doesn’t involve secret identities or underground lairs? I mean, your family has some pretty amazing resources and you have your whole life ahead of you. You could make a real difference by investing in the right places and—”

“That kind of change takes time,” Oliver said in a low voice. “There are people in this city who need help now.”

Felicity nodded slowly. She had a feeling that arguing with Oliver would be like butting her head against a steel wall. And in a way, he wasn’t wrong. Development through the proper channels could only do so much. But it also had a benefit of not getting you shot at—at least not as much as vigilantism seemed to. Felicity was too tired to press the point at the moment. She’d let the issue lie. For now, anyway. “Oliver?” she said again.

“Hm?”

“I’m going to hug you now. I’m just telling you cause you seem kind of edgy and I don’t want you to karate chop my head off or something... okay?”

Oliver looked taken aback for a moment but then his face softened. “Okay.” 

Felicity wrapped her arms around his waist and gingerly laid her head against his uninjured pectoral. “I’m really glad you’re not dead.”

For a second Oliver stood stiff as a statue, as though the years away had stolen his knowledge of the mechanics of a hug. Then he slowly slid his arms around her as well, his chin coming to rest atop her head. He huffed softly against her hair, and melted against her. Hugging Oliver, Felicity discovered, was rather like hugging a furnace... a 6’2” furnace with six pack abs and arms she seemed to fit into as though they were made just for her. 

“You’re really hot,” she murmured. She grimaced against his chest. “I mean, temperature wise, obviously. Not that you’re not attractive because you are. I mean if you look up the golden ratio in the dictionary I’m pretty sure you’d find a picture of your face—”

Oliver pulled away, though he kept hold of Felicity’s hand. He was giving her that cocky half-smile that always managed to make her feel simultaneously sheepish and proud. “Come here,” he said. “I want to show you something.”

He led her over to the computer station—she was going to have to do something about that; it really was horribly constructed—picked up a small notebook from beside the keyboard, and handed it to her. 

“You said you don’t know much about what I do. This is it. My father left me this list; everyone on it has failed Starling in one way or another. Bribery, extortion, murder. These people are poisoning this city and I’m going to take them down, Felicity. All of them. Doesn’t matter how long it take.”

Or whether it kills you, Felicity thought. She slowly opened the notebook. In the low lighting Felicity had to squint to make out the hastily scrawled handwriting.

Adam Hunt, Frank Bertinelli, Justin Adkisson. Lester Buchinsky. Warren Patel. 

It went on and on. Most of the people she had never heard of. 

One of them she had. His name was on the top of the third page, undifferentiated from the dozens of others in all ways except for the fact that it was as familiar to Felicity as her own. Felicity’s heart dropped into her stomach. Of course he was on the list. She should have seen this coming from a mile away.

“Oliver,” she said anxiously, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

Oliver’s brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to speak but Dig chose that moment to come clattering down the stairs. “We have to go,” he said. 

“What’s wrong?” Oliver asked, his eyes still trained on Felicity. 

“The school noticed you two are missing from the hotel. Your mother just called me wanting to know if I knew where you were. She’s about two seconds from sending the police out looking for you.”

Oliver swore under his breath.

School? Felicity thought dumbly. She had all but forgotten about why she was in Starling to begin with. The field trip... the visit to Star Labs felt as though it had been days ago, weeks even. In reality it had been less than 24 hours.

To Felicity, Oliver said softly, “Can it wait?” 

“Um...” No, her mind shrieked, tell him now. Instead she nodded. What difference would it make if she told him now or when they got back to school? “Yeah.” She handed him back the notebook. “Later.” 

Dig tossed Oliver a clean shirt and Oliver pulled it over his head, wincing as the movement tugged at his injury.

“I’ll drive you back to the hotel,” Dig said, shepherding them toward the stairs. “You two better start brainstorming excuses.”


	12. Chapter 12

It was still raining when Dig dropped Oliver and Felicity off in front of the hotel with a dubious “Good luck.” The unspoken subtext: _You’re gonna need it._

A doorman in a red jacket hurried to pull the door open for them with a muttered, “Mr. Queen.” Oliver and Felicity stepped into the lobby.

And a sea of lightbulbs exploded in their faces. 

Felicity gaped at the horde of reporters smashed into the hotel’s gilded lobby. For a moment she thought they must have walked in behind a celebrity. Ryan Gosling, maybe. Or Oprah. What other reason would the paparazzi have for staking out the hotel? Then, over the thump of her startled heartbeat, Felicity heard what they were all shouting— _Ollie! Oliver! Where’d you go? Who’s the girl?_ —and she realized the reporters were there for them. They had been lying in wait for them. 

Well, technically for Oliver but still. 

Felicity was snapped her out of her astonishment by an arm sliding surreptitiously around her waist. She glanced up at Oliver, whose face had settled into an impassive mask. “Sorry gents,” his eyes fell on a female reporter, “ladies. No comment.” He began to push through the crowd toward the elevators in the back of the lobby, Felicity anchored firmly to his side. Felicity ducked her head as lightbulbs continued to flash in their faces. 

“How ‘bout a smile for the camera, honey?” A stringy haired photographer made to grab Felicity’s arm as they passed but his fingers never landed; he yowled and dropped his camera as Oliver twisted his wrist back on itself. “Hands to yourself, please,” Oliver said with a cold smile. 

After that the crowd parted a bit easier. Two over-eager reporters tried to slide into the elevator with them but Oliver fixed them with a glare so razing they backed out again with muttered apologies. The doors slid shut and a heavy blanket of silence settled over them as the elevator began to glide upward. Felicity’s ears were still ringing with the reporters’ shouts. She felt a warmth on her hip and realized Oliver was still clutching her, his fingers digging almost painfully into her waist. He seemed to realize this at the same time she did because he dropped his hand and looked away. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, and Felicity was left to guess what he was apologizing for. Holding her too tightly? The reporters? The entire night’s events?

“Is it...is it always like that for you? With the reporters and the photographers?”

“Pretty much.”

“I’m sorry,” Felicity said, surprised but how angered she felt on his behalf. All of a sudden celebrities’ objections to paparazzi seemed entirely justified. No one deserved to be ambushed like that.

“I can handle it.”

“I’m still sorry.”

When the elevator opened onto their floor Professor Taylor was standing just outside the doors waiting for them. Her frizzy hair was especially wild today, and that combined with the thin set of her mouth gave the professor a ferocity one would not expect from such a small woman. “Get your things,” was all she said. “We’re leaving.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ms. Smoak? The dean will see you now.”

Felicity stood slowly. Her legs felt like jelly. She was freezing and hungry and terrified that she was about to be expelled. Somewhere in the back of her mind it occurred to her that she was still dressed in Oliver oversized clothes. Fantastic. 

The bus ride back from Starling had not been fun. Professor Taylor had sat Felicity and Oliver in the very first row and then completely ignored them for the rest of the trip, except to occasionally throw alternating looks of disappointment and betrayal in their direction. Felicity’s ears itched with the sound of the other students whispering and giggling behind her. She caught enough of the conversation to figure out that everyone thought she and Oliver had snuck out of the hotel for a fun night out in Starling’s club scene. It was so far from the truth that she was tempted to laugh. But then she remembered how much trouble they were in the laugh shriveled up in her throat and died. 

The receptionist ushered her into Dean Winter’s office, past Oliver who was on his way out. 

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed. Felicity just shrugged at him. What could she possibly say? It wasn’t his fault. He’d been shot. He’d needed her help. If she had to do it all again she would make the same choice. But that didn’t sooth the feeling of panic that rushed over her as she stepped into the dean’s office and the receptionist shut the door behind her with a definitive click. 

“Sit,” Dean Winters said, pointing at the lone chair across from his desk. Felicity did as she was told. Her eyes sought out the boy’s rowing calendar but he must’ve have taken it down because the wall behind his desk was blank. 

“Well,” Dean Winters said, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on the point they made. “I can’t say it’s a pleasure to see you again, Ms. Smoak.”  
Felicity couldn’t think of anything to say to that so she stared down at her lap. 

“Mr. Queen told me what happened.”

Felicity’s eyes flicked up. “He did?”

“Yes. For once he seems to be determined to take responsibility for his actions. He told me that he snuck out to attend certain...festivities going on in the city. And when he realized he was too inebriated to make it back to the hotel he called you.”

“Oh,” Felicity said. “Oh! I mean, yes. That’s what happened.”

Sighing heavily, Dean Winters pulled off his glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to be frank with you, Ms. Smoak. You’re a smart girl and so I’m sure you’ve come to realize as I have, that the world is not a particularly fair place. I’m afraid to say that this situation will do nothing dissuade you from that belief. 

“I don’t understand.”

The dean slid his glasses back onto his nose. “Mr. Queen is a five generation legacy. You on the other hand, an unknown scholarship student from Los Angeles.”  
“Las Vegas,” Felicity said automatically.

The dean raised his eyebrows. 

“I’m from Las Vegas,” she said in a small voice.

“Of course,” he responded smoothly. “My point is this: despite the fact that this entire debacle would appear to be Mr. Queen’s fault, our handsome friend would have to be convicted of several murders before the board would approve his expulsion. On the other hand, I’m afraid they would have no such qualms about rescinding _your_ invitation to study here. ”

Felicity thought she might throw up. There was a least an 85% chance she was about to hack all over the dean’s mahogany desk. She smoothed her sweaty palms down her thighs, trying to pull herself together. “Is the board...are they thinking about kicking me out?”

“Not yet. However I wish to impart on you the seriousness of the trouble you have gotten yourself into, and to make sure you understand that whatever privileges Mr. Queen may retain, they do not extend to you, whatever the status of your relationship with him.” 

“We’re friends. That’s all. And even if we were something,” Felicity said stiffly, “that would be no business of yours. Or the board’s.”

The dean fixed Felicity with a tired gaze. “Ms. Smoak. I think we have gotten off on the wrong foot. Did you know that I attended Pembroke myself?”  
“No,” Felicity said unsure of why he was sharing this with her. “I didn’t know that.”

“I did. And like you I was scholarship student. Which is how I know that the world looks at people like us differently than people like them.” He didn’t clarify who he meant by ‘them’, but he didn’t have to. He meant people like Oliver and Nyssa. People with power and influence and money. “I’ve had to fight for everything I have. I fought tooth and nail for the deanship. Many on the board were....averse to a granting the position to a non-legacy. I’m telling you this so that you understand that I am on your side. I want you to succeed. And that is why I am forbidding you from further fraternization with Mr. Queen under any circumstances.”

Felicity stared at him blankly. “You’re...what?”

“Forbidding you from associating with Mr. Queen,” the dean said calmly. “He will be assigned another tutor and you will have no further contact with him.”

Felicity gaped at him. “You can’t do that! ...can you do that?”

“Oh, I can,” he countered. “This is not public school, Ms. Smoak. If you dislike the way we do things you are free to leave. But I hope you won’t. As I said, I am on your side. This action is intended to ensure you reach your true potential without being sidetracked by other...activities.”

Felicity sat frozen as he continued. “If I find that you have been associating with Mr. Queen against my express command, you will be suspended. I am doing this for your own good, Ms. Smoak. I do hope you understand.” He waved his hand toward the door. “That is all. You may go.”

Felicity stood stiffly. Once out of the office, she drifted up the stairs and wandered through the empty halls, past skulking suits of armor and busts of disapproving old white men. Exhaustion made her limbs feel like lead. She was upset but she was also tired. So tired. All she wanted in that moment was to fall into her bed and sleep for approximately seven years. 

Only when Felicity got to her dorm she found her bed already occupied. Oliver was sitting on it. He’d clearly been waiting for her. Avoiding his questioning gaze, Felicity pulled the door shut behind her and hovered there, afraid to get to close. “How’d you get in here?” she asked.

“Sara let me in.”

“Where did she go?”

“Soccer practice.”

“In the rain?”

“I guess.” Oliver stood. The thumb and index finger on his right hand rubbed nervously together. “Felicity, I’m sorry—”

“Oliver you can’t be here,” Felicity interrupted. She tried to swallow but a hard, painful lump had formed in her throat. “You need to go.” 

“Look, I get it if you’re mad at me. I just want to apologize—”

_Mit. Mit. Mit._ “Oliver you’re not listening. You can’t be here. Dean Winters has specifically forbidden me from fraternizing with you.” 

Oliver’s brow wrinkled. “Fraternizing?”

“Hanging out with you.” Felicity drew in a shaky breath. “If he finds out we’ve been in the same room for more than a minute he’s going to suspend me. I can’t get suspended. Forget MIT I’ll be lucky to get into Las Vegas U with a suspension on my record.”

Oliver looked stunned. Rain pounded against the window, melting the lawn and the lake and the rolling hills beyond all into a dull grey blur. “I don’t know what to say,” he said finally.

Felicity looked away, biting her lip and blinking back tears. 

“I guess...I should go then.” Oliver walked to the door. He stopped with his hand on the handle and hesitated. Then turned back pressed his lips to Felicity’s forehead for a long moment. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything.” Something hot and wet rolled down Felicity’s cheek. She wanted to say something, anything. She had gnawing feeling that she was losing something she hadn’t realized she’d had to begin with. Oliver’s name ghosting across her lips but it was too late. Cold air rushed into the space Oliver had filled just a moment before. He was gone.

Felicity wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve. The castle creaked softly around her and rain lashed harder against the glass. “I’m sorry, too,” she whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> So I've had this idea swirling around my head for a while and I finally decided to try and turn it into an actual story. It's still a work in progress and I am my only editor so I apologize for any typos and such!


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